


Glass Diamonds

by JDominique37



Series: The Storm, the Stars, and the Skies (Kuroko no Basuke Stories) [8]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: F/M, Gen, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2020-08-11 11:20:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 66,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20152747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JDominique37/pseuds/JDominique37
Summary: Maybe . . . that piece of glass was a little like all of us. Trying, trying to be genuine, but just feeling fake inside. Trying, trying to be as good as we can, with a smooth, shiny appearance, but still wondering if others would accept us. Trying, trying to prove we're shatterproof . . . but learning that it's okay when we're not.





	1. Mitsuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, hello, everyone! First of all, thanks for clicking on this story! 
> 
> So, a few notes. First, I don't own KnB or its characters. Just my OCs and the plot. :) Second, like most of my stories, this one is completely written. I'm actually still working on editing some last-minute things, but I have the general story down, so there shouldn't be any problems with me finishing posting it. 
> 
> If you've read my last KnB story, Contradictory, then this story will be similar because it has two pairings and dual POVs. This time, we're going with Akashi/OC (of course) . . . and Ogiwara/OC. I didn't plan on doing this at first, but I'd overestimated my ability to write Akashi (who I believe is the most complicated character in KnB), and so I added Ogiwara's storyline to . . . lighten some stuff up. But don't worry, there won't be a lot of drama/angst in this story since that's not my style. By the way, this story takes place during Akashi's second year. So, after the events of Winter Cup and before Last Game. 
> 
> Please enjoy!

When I tilt my head, I can see the picture’s flaws.

His eyes are off. They appear crooked, one larger than the other, giving him a crazed look. The corners of my lips rise, amused and unpleased at the same time. I’ve always been terrible at balancing my drawings.

I rip the piece of paper from my notebook, crumple it up, and toss it into the nearby trash can. It was my second attempt at drawing this particular character and to no avail. A dead end, it seems. I have everything else about to perfection — his hair, a bit spiky and falling in waves on his forehead; the smooth angles of his cheeks; the height of his body, the length of his arms. But I can’t figure out his eyes. I’ve tried widening them, angling them, spreading them apart, but nothing seems right. And whenever I seem right on the edge of something, I always mess up the second eye, ruining the whole thing.

I should just give up on this character.

But something attracts me to him. I want to draw him — I want to complete the image I see in my head. The image of a proud leader, with a fierce confidence, a vivid imagination, and a quest to see all those he loves safe and cared for.

His reality is one I want to see come alive.

* * *

“Mitsuri-chan.”

I shake my head from my dreams and look up from my notebook, another blank page facing me. My grandmother has entered my room, quiet as usual, her gentle voice announcing her presence.

“Yes?” I say, closing the notebook and placing it on my nightstand.

“Your sister is finally coming home today, yes?”

“That’s right.” My stomach twists at the thought. Her plane comes in this afternoon. Grandma and Grandpa had offered to pick her up in a taxi, but apparently, she’d refused. I guess that after traveling so many different countries, you hardly feel worried in your own.

Grandma smiles. “It will be nice to see her again,” she says.

“Right . . .”

For Grandma, it’s not just pleasantry. She’s truly excited to see my sister, Reiha, come home. But I have a feeling that the happy reunion she imagines might not come to fruition.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for school?” she asks, looking toward the clock.

“I was just about to get dressed.”

Drawing before classes always calms my mind down so I can face the day. My therapy, if you will. Not like I have anything to be stressed about — though, today I may need to be calm more than usual.

I reach toward the coin on my desk, a five yen, and finger it over in my palm three times. I try to think of some question to ask, but I have no decision facing me. I flip it anyway, and it lands heads, the side with the flowers. Maybe that’s a sign.

Forty-five minutes later, I’m on my way to school for my second year at Rakuzan, a prestigious high school in the Kyōto area. It’s early in the first semester, and the cherry trees are still in bloom, scattering the pathway, a soft pink blanket.

The closer I get to Rakuzan, the more light gray uniforms I see. Most students are still excited about the start of the school year. They’re loud, bumping into each other, friendly touches. I walk alone. In middle school, I used to trail close to other parties so it would look like I was part of their group, but I stopped that once I realized how pathetic it was when they never even turned around to acknowledge me.

I am fine on my own.

Although Rakuzan is a difficult school to get into, and its coursework proves that, during my first year of high school, I coasted through with moderate ease. The teachers and student body alike are brilliant, and I enjoyed the hard work it provided me. I devoted myself to my studies, and so I rarely ever participated in the social side of the school other than my after-school club. That was fine with me. No one ever noticed me, and no one invited me to anything — I suppose you could say that was how I wanted it. I had confidence in myself and my abilities, but I hated the unpredictability of others. A year of invisibility where I could just focus on myself and my studies was like a dream.

Even being invisible, though, is tiresome.

* * *

“Akashi-san has really grown, hasn’t he?”

“Is it just me, or has he changed a bit from last year? It’s like he’s matured . . . well, I mean, he’s always been more mature than the other boys, but now he seems even more like an adult. I find that quite attractive.”

“Well, you know, my boyfriend’s on the basketball team, and he said that he’s been so much more relaxed lately! It’s like he —”

I am used to the daily whispers and rumors. The fact that they are about Akashi Seijūrō is not surprising either. Student body president, captain of the basketball team, possibly professional shōgi player, and who knows what else . . . Akashi is the most famous student on campus. He’s the type of person that appears to coast through life on a red carpet; everything comes easy to him, and nothing daunts him.

I’ve only spoken to him once before, when he’d visited the debate club’s room. At first, I was scared that he was there to observe our club and possibly terminate it, since that was well within his power. At the time, we had no credentials to our name, and there were only two other members. I believe we were actually more so arguing at that time (a touchy topic I don’t remember the details of) when he first walked in. Akashi didn’t add any opinion of his, just told us to continue as normal, but at the end of the hour, he approached me.

“You’re a first-year, Kasayama-san?”

“Y-yes!” I squeaked out.

“And you’re the club president?”

“That’s right.”

“Impressive,” he said. “I expect this club will be a success.”

I had wanted to tell Akashi that I thought his position was impressive, too. Being school president and captain of the basketball team must be so much more taxing than just arguing every week, but he left without another word.

Rakuzan, despite being known for its more conservative schooling, encourages students to participate in multiple clubs. In order for students to handle the workload, most clubs won’t meet every day (unless you’re a demanding sports club), instead assuming a more lax type of group. As one of the lesser-known clubs, debate falls into this category. When I’d first entered Rakuzan, I’d wanted to join a club for my college applications and was surprised to see that they had no debate club. Apparently, it was active a few years ago, but all their members graduated, and no one had wanted to revive it. So, as debate was something I was interested in, I made it my goal to bring it back to life. Although it was tough securing a faculty advisor and gaining members, at the end of the year, we had eight members (including myself) and would meet once a week to partake in heavy discussions that would often extend for hours. I never joined another club after debate, no other activities interesting me. I did consider the art club, but my drawing was always something much more private to me, and I didn’t want others to see it.

As we’re only a week into the new school year, I have yet to set up a time for the club to reconvene. Part of me is scared that no one will show up, even the previous members who’d seemed committed, and another part of me is nervous because last year, now that the club was more established, there had been talks of going to actual tournaments. But . . . Akashi saw something.

Sometimes, I find my one experience with Akashi Seijūrō strange. And sometimes, I do not at all. Since I am the invisible girl, I listen a lot more than people think, and the rumors are ripe around Rakuzan, especially when it concerns Akashi. It seems like I’m not the only one he has brief, calculating conversations with.

Akashi Seijūrō is a mystery to many — maybe all. But I suppose that’s what makes him so interesting.

* * *

The school day ends with nothing extraordinary happening. Not that I’d expected anything out of the usual to occur — no, anything exciting that’s going to happen will happen later this evening.

But then, as I gather up my things and enter the hallway toward the stairs, a certain red-headed boy approaches me.

A face no one would mistake. Eyes no one would forget.

Looking at him, with him staring straight at me, business clear on his agenda, I have a sudden epiphany — the eyes of the character I have been so desperately trying to draw . . . _they have been so close . . . they have been here all along. _

Because if Akashi Seijūrō’s eyes aren’t perfect, then what are?

“Kasayama Mitsuri,” he says.

I blink a few times, realizing I’d been gazing altogether too hard into his eyes. He doesn’t seem put off, though. Nothing ever seems to unhinge him. “Yes?” I say.

“I heard you’re going to enter the debate club into tournaments,” he says.

I have no idea where he heard that, but I suppose it’s not surprising considering how involved he is in everything.

“That’s — well, it was just a thought. It would be nice to have some credentials to our name.”

“Of course. When do you plan to have your first meeting?”

Why does he ask? He doesn’t want to join, does he? He can’t be thinking of that — he must already have so much going on. . . . He must just be polite . . . or maybe he asks this about all the clubs.

“I . . . I really haven’t thought of it,” I confess. “I’ve just been getting into the school routine. I was waiting for things to settle down before establishing a time.”

“That is probably wise,” he says. “Let me know when you’ve set a time. I would like to attend.”

And just like last time, he turns around and leaves without another word.

My breath catches. There had been a few people watching us — because people watch Akashi wherever he goes. But none seem to have overheard what we were saying, which is probably a good thing. (I suspect people might come to the club simply because Akashi is, and I wouldn’t want halfhearted participants.)

Trying to calm my thoughts, I clamp my hand around my bag’s strap, straighten myself, and steel myself for the other impossible event going on in my life. Something that will undoubtedly serve to cause me more trouble than Akashi attending a club meeting.

My sister’s return.

* * *

I have not seen Reiha in two years, and even then, that was just a brief visit. It would be more accurate to say I haven’t really been with her since we were eight years old. At that time, our parents decided to divorce. As children, it seemed so sudden, but now, when I think back at it, I can remember flashes of late-night arguments and silent treatments that would last for days. Dad and Mom both fought for custody, but in the end, Mom, supported by her parents, our only grandparents, got both of us,.

If that wasn’t enough to break up our family, Mom then declared that she wanted to travel the world. It seemed that, now that she was finally free of Dad, she wanted to do all the things she couldn’t before. Our first stop: America.

I remember the fear of flying for the first time. The strange new scents that made up an atmosphere entirely different from Japan. Wild colors and overlapping accents. If I tried, I could probably remember specifics. But I didn’t spend enough time in the States to form any concrete memories, and so my impressions remain fragmented and incomplete.

Because I hated it. Being away from the comfort of Japan, a language I knew, faces I was familiar with . . . every minute was like torture, making me physically ill. Finally, after seeing that I couldn’t handle it, Mom allowed me to stay with her parents in Kyōto, while she and Reiha would continue to travel the globe.

Sometimes, I wish I had fought through it and stayed. Stayed so that I could still have a mother and a sister. But then, when I think of the comforts of home and my grandparents’ gentle smiles, I assure myself that that route would have been worse. There’s no way I could’ve made it through.

The last time I saw either of them was at my mom’s wedding two years ago. After flying all around the world with Reiha, Mom had found someone she thought she could love again. They chose to settle in America, and the wedding took place at a beach in California. Reiha and I were the bridesmaids, but while we spent the two hectic days side by side, we barely talked. It was as if our closeness as children had evaporated entirely.

It wasn’t all that surprising, really. Maybe we would’ve grown apart even if we’d never been separated. Our personalities were like night and day, after all, and what had kept us together as children was nothing more than blood. At least, that’s how I try to view it now.

But then, a few months ago, Mom decided that it was time for Reiha to have a semblance of normality and routine in her teenage years, an actual high school life. She fought tooth and nail, apparently, but Mom wouldn’t budge. So now, she is coming home — my sister, my twin, the mirror image of me, but the girl with a personality so different than mine.

Reiha cried when I left. We sent each other emails and postcards, and for a while, it seemed like nothing had changed. But now, I’m not so sure.

* * *

There’s a rap on the door, and then, before Grandma or I can answer, it’s shoved open and a girl stomps in. She carries a bag on her shoulder, a suitcase in her hand, and outside, behind her, I can see more luggage — how much does she own?

Reiha looks a lot like me — well, exactly like me, you could say — but also different. She has the same straight honey-colored hair, though hers is a few inches shorter, and her eyes are the blue hues of the sky. Her skin is tanner than mine, though, and the way she carries herself is entirely different. With confidence, no fear in her steps. She is not invisible in any way — no, she wants to be seen. And not to just be seen, but to be seen by _everyone_.

She glances at us, her light eyes passing over Grandpa, then Grandma, and finally alighting upon me. Her suitcase falls to the ground with a thud. I wince. Throwing her shoulder bag to the floor, she says, “So is this the place? It’s smaller than I thought it’d be.”

“Have some respect!” I blurt out the words without thinking.

Reiha’s eyes turn onto me, and her stare suddenly seems icy. I wonder, for a moment, if we really are twins. If I tried, could I look like that? She says, “Is that what you’re worried about, sis?”

My heart pounds within my chest.

Last year had been nice. My year of invisibility. But now, I know that this year will be anything but.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading on past the first paragraph! If you guys have any thoughts, comments, criticisms, whatever, please let me know! I love getting reviews. :D
> 
> One last note before I go: I don't pretend to know everything about Japanese culture or other things featured in this story. I've taken the liberty to kind of make up stuff as I go, such as Rakuzan's dual-club nature and the debate club. If you see anything that doesn't make sense, or you're like, "that's not how it works . . . ," please forgive me, and feel free to let me know!
> 
> Thanks once again for reading! Until next time!
> 
> ~ J. Dominique


	2. Reiha

I’ve stayed in small places before. That’s not the problem. And really, it’s not _that _small. It’s pretty nice accommodations for Japan. It’s just . . . living in a place like this? With people I haven’t seen in years?

The idea makes me want to choke.

Mitsuri’s face when she first saw me didn’t help — like I was a total stranger and she wished she was anywhere but standing before me. No . . . like she wished _I _wasn’t here.

Hate to break it to you, sis, but I’m here to stay.

It’s not like I want to be here either.

My grandpa helps me move my things in, though I protest that I can do it myself. Honestly, the guy probably shouldn’t be helping anyone move anything anywhere, but he insists. My room is next to Mitsuri’s. Small and enclosed, with little privacy. The shōji seems so thin that I feel like it’ll break if I just lean against it. When I imagined coming back to Japan, I thought we’d be in an apartment or something, not this old-fashioned house with rice paper walls still intact. I suddenly regret all the things I brought.

Being on the road for several years, it’s not like I’m unused to traveling light. But when we settled down in America, I acquired more than I needed, specifically in clothes, such as the coral pink bikini and gorgeous cantão I splurged on from Brazil or my collection of flip-flops, because you can never have enough of those.

While Gramps wheels my suitcases in, Mitsuri observes us, her arms crossed over her chest, a shrewd look on her face. I wonder if I look so grouchy all the time. I should try imitating that look. I turn to the mirror hung up on my wall and screw my face up — there is little resemblance to Mitsuri’s displeasure, but with practice, maybe.

In reality, I can’t see much of myself in Mitsuri at all. She always seemed better than me, in academics and personality both. She was sweeter, nicer, more caring, while I always struggled with holding my tongue and trying not to snatch the last cookie out of the jar. That’s not even mentioning my grades — leaving to go abroad was a breath of fresh air. I thought it would loosen Mitsuri up some, too . . . but that didn’t happen. And so, with just my mom to school me — and, let’s face it, she got more and more carefree every day — I ended up with a bunch of leeway in my academics, something that I’m sure Mitsuri will notice. And then the schools in America were like a joke.

I am . . . not looking forward to high school here.

At Rakuzan, no less.

A prissy and prestigious school for people like Mitsuri.

“Thanks, Gramps,” I say, dumping my last bag into the corner of the room. “I think that’s it. Um . . . I think I’ll just unpack for a bit now?” Not that there’s room for everything. I’ll have to get rid of some things if I ever want to live here comfortably.

Grandma makes an appearance near Mitsuri and glances around at all my stuff. If she’s judging me, she doesn’t show it. She just smiles and says, “That sounds good. You just relax in here and rest. I’ll have dinner ready in an hour, okay?”

I nod, my insides screaming for them to leave already. Usually, I don’t like to be by myself, alone in a room that has yet to be marked with any personalizations. But right now, all I want is time to clear my head.

The three of them leave, Mitsuri casting one last long look at me, and I slide the door closed (not that it helps much), grateful for their absences.

I fish out my phone and earbuds and plug in some music, letting the sound drown out any other noises of the house. The room is bare, obviously a spare, and I can’t help thinking that they’ve kept it just for me. Like they knew that someday I would return.

I bite my lip and try not to think of that. I unzip the first suitcase and start pulling out clothes to hang up or fold into the dresser. I really did bring too much — and none of what I have to wear is probably in style here. Too outlandish, too bright, and too . . . wrong. It’s strange because even though I lived in Japan for eight years, and it’s technically my home, I don’t have a single yukata. I’ll have to get one before the summer festivals arrive, because there’s no way I’m missing out on fireworks.

Oh, well. At least I’ll have a uniform to wear at Rakuzan every day. After I finish sorting out my clothes, I go through my other things, an assortment of knickknacks from five different continents, some of my favorite snacks that I knew I wouldn’t be able to get in Japan, and a few other things, like my childhood stuffed animal and the gift Mom gave me when we parted.

It was only yesterday (or was it? I’m still getting used to the time difference), but it feels like a long time ago.

I didn’t expect her to send me away.

The last few months have been tough, but I’ve been getting better. I have. So when she sat down with me and said that she’d been talking with her parents and that they all thought it would be good for me to return to Japan, I’d just sat there, shocked. And then I denied it. Argued. Rebelled. But in the end, it wasn’t my choice.

_It will be better for you, _she said. _A change of pace._

I’d tried to tell her that no, it would make things worse, but she wouldn’t listen. She insisted that a normal routine and a life back with Mitsuri would do me wonders. But now that I’m back, I just have that restless, crawling feeling.

I sigh, picking up her gift — a silver chain necklace with a single cherry blossom at the end. I thought it was strange, and I asked her why she’d gotten that specifically. Why something from Japan, and not something to represent all our travels? But she just smiled and didn’t say a word.

I want to talk to her. I miss her voice, and I want to ask once again why she’d sent me away. But . . . she’d said she didn’t want to mess with international calling fees and insisted that I email her instead. Some part of me wants to immediately start a message, but I hesitate.

_It’s fine. I can do this. I can start again. _

I swing the necklace before my eyes, back and forth, and eventually, I put it on.

* * *

Dinner is quiet. It’s clear that Gram’s put her all into the meal, with each dish topped high with flavor. The nostalgic smells make me pause for a moment; I barely remember to say my thanks before digging in.

It’s been a while since I’ve had traditional Japanese food. Sometimes, my mom and stepfather would take me to a sushi place, but it never tasted the same. The chopsticks find their way easily into my fingers. I guess some things you never forget.

I try to distract myself with the food and ignore the stares of Mitsuri and my grandparents. In contrast to me, they eat their food slowly. Almost daintily. It drives me crazy.

Grams tries to make small talk, asking me about my time away, about how Mom is, what my stepdad is like. She’s polite and sounds interested, but so does nearly every Japanese person. I set down my chopsticks, frustrated. This was one of the things I never liked about Japan — no one saying what they want to.

And, of course, she doesn’t talk about _that_. Even though I know she knows.

The conversation feels stilted, almost staged. Mitsuri rarely says anything. I’m sitting right beside her, so I can’t see her face, can’t see what she’s thinking.

Does she hate that I came home? Does she wish I’d just stayed away so she could enjoy her quiet life with our grandparents?

In part, I don’t blame her.

But then another part of me simmers.

_I didn_ _’t want this either. I didn’t want to leave — and I didn’t want you to leave. _

Dinner ends quickly. Grams begins to gather up the dishes, and I stand to help her, but Mitsuri shoots me a look. “Thanks for the meal,” she says before standing as well.

Ah, right. Mom and my stepdad never cared for formalities — we always just dug right into what was in front of us, then went our separate ways. Actually, it’s rare that all three of us were even together for a meal.

“Thanks for the meal,” I say. _Gochisōsama deshita. _The sounds feel foreign on my tongue.

After dinner, I make the excuse of still being jet-lagged and retire to my room. I’m glad that at least I don’t have to share with Mitsuri. I can’t imagine what kind of night that would be.

I flop onto my bed, glad that they at least have a normal Western bed, and I don’t have to pull out a futon every night. I close my eyes and grasp the necklace around my neck. I should probably take it off . . . Mitsuri would say something about a choking hazard . . .

* * *

My first day at Rakuzan High is nearly exactly what I expected. Luckily, I didn’t have to sit through the entrance ceremony, so I’m starting classes immediately. Since Mitsuri and I are the same size, she lends me one of her crisp white uniforms, and takes it upon herself to instruct me in the school’s ways — proper education and all.

Even when we were kids, she would do this. Always talk about what we _should _do and how we _should _do it. Back then, I used to make fun of her, and she would accept the teasing with an embarrassed smile. I don’t think she would be so easy-going now.

As we walk to the school, I tug at the long skirt and stiff shirt. I hope I can get my own set and make some alterations. Mitsuri seems more relaxed this morning and even makes some small talk as we walk. I humor her, feeling some regret for how I acted last night. It’s true that I don’t want to be here, but they probably don’t want me here either. The least I can do is make it a more pleasant visit. Maybe if I prove to Mom I’m doing well, I can go back.

“Did you like living in America?” Her voice is soft when she asks the questions. She’s been to America twice, but only the west coast and only for short periods of time. Living there is entirely different from visiting.

“Yes,” I say. “It’s a lot different from here, but it’s nice.”

I don’t say more, because if I do, I’ll end up saying things I don’t want to. _Telling her how she__’d like it, if she tried. Asking her why she left. Confessing about why I left._

I usually have no problem speaking my mind, but . . . the one thing that needs to be said? Can’t.

A pink petal flutters into my face, and I splutter. Mitsuri lets out a low laugh, the first sign of humor I’ve heard from her. As I glance up, I realize we’ve entered a whole pathway draped in the cherry blossoms — the trees lean over the street, creating a sort of arch.

Absentmindedly, I finger the chain of my necklace, which I’d tucked under my shirt. It’s been a while since I’ve seen the cherry blossoms. I’d forgotten . . . how pretty they were.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Mitsuri says, her eyes keen on my gaze.

“Eh? Oh, right. Yeah. They’re pink and all.”

She laughs again, and I almost smile.

Mitsuri takes me to organize my class schedule first, before she heads to do her own stuff. After confirming my courses, I go to my classroom. The smattering of youthful Japanese sends nostalgia through me again. While Mom and I would speak it when we were alone, it’s been a while since I’ve heard so much of it. Kids are still filing through the hallways, our homeroom starting in a few minutes. Luckily (or maybe unluckily), I’m in a different class than Mitsuri. Probably because of our difference in genius. I’m not exactly sure how I managed to get into Rakuzan, but I’m guessing someone pulled some strings.

As I walk through the halls, heads start to turn, and whispers rise around me. I smirk at the attention and hold my head high, strutting past the classrooms until I find mine. I wonder if Mitsuri is popular — if they recognize me from her, or if she’s told them about me. Or maybe they’re just getting worked up about a new kid.

The classroom is nearly full when I enter, and people glance my way as I step through the doorway. I make sure to look them all in the eye before I turn to find a seat.

Only to see that there is no good seat available.

Arriving in the second year of high school is a pain. This class has had time to be with each other for a full year already, and here I am, barging in. You can tell that all the cliques and groups have already been formed. The free seats are either near people who clearly aren’t looking for any friends or at the front, a spot I hate taking.

I realize I’ve been standing in the doorway for a few seconds, and my face flushes as I eye the nearest free seat — I guess I’ll take whatever. If it ends up being someone else’s seat, oh well.

Just as I’m about to move, though, there’s a skidding sound behind me — and someone collides straight into my back.

The two of us are thrown forward — my hands fling out and find purchase on a girl’s desk, scattering her things. She cries out and throws me a glare.

“Oh, sorry! I’m so sorry!” a voice behind me says, the one who’d run into me.

I grunt and straighten myself, adjusting the shoulder strap of my bag and my overly long skirt. I turn to find who the perpetrator is and see a flustered boy facing me, concern twisting his face.

By all means, he’s fairly average. Brown hair and eyes, a nicely shaped face, and — my attention is drawn to his lips. I smack my own together.

He is cute.

But obviously not my type.

I say, “You should watch where you’re going.”

He ducks his head, flame going to his cheeks. “Right. I’m sorry. I was just in a rush, thinking I was late to class.”

Then he cocks his head, his eyes filling with confusion. “Hey, wait, what are you doing in here?”

Ah. He must think me to be Mitsuri.

I blink a few times, then I put forth an innocent smile. “I asked to transfer classes.”

“Why would you do that?” He’s clearly perplexed.

I shrug, and as I do, I adjust my posture, relaxing my shoulders and easing into the slight slouch Mitsuri has — the I-don’t-want-to-be-seen-but-I’m-still-here-so-despite-my-efforts-you-still-have-to-look-at-me stance.

The boy’s face clears. And then clouds again. He says, “Hey, you’re the president of the debate club, right?”

Interesting. She likes to debate? I wouldn’t have pegged her for one who likes to shout out her opinion. Plus the president? Well, that’s more like her. She does like to organize things. “That’s right,” I say. “Would you like to join?”

He shakes his head. “I’m actually no good at that sort of stuff. I was just thinking . . . my friend might be interested.”

I paste a fake smile on my face. “Well, tell him he’s welcome to come anytime.”

He frowns. “I thought you hadn’t started up again.”

Oops. “Well — I mean, when we do start. He can drop by.”

“Oh. Well, I’m Ogiwara Shigehiro, by the way. I don’t think we’ve ever officially met.”

“Kasayama Mitsuri, but I suppose you already knew that.”

“Uh . . . if you’re new to this class . . . I guess you don’t have a seat, do you? You could sit next to me. I’m at the front here, so you might not like that —”

“That sounds great,” I say, relieved that at least I have something. “Thank you.”

He smiles, those nice lips turning up at the corners, and I smile back. By now, most of the people have stopped looking at me, but there are still a few stares.

I’m wondering how long it will take this Ogiwara kid to realize he’s been fooled — probably at roll call — when a girl stands up as we pass and points a finger at me, speaking before I can.

“Ogiwara-kun,” she says, her voice high-pitched and demanding, “don’t listen to anything this girl says. She’s not Kasayama Mitsuri.”

“W-what?” Ogiwara glances back at me, the confusion back on his face. “Who else would she be?”

“I saw it on the roster myself,” the girl says. “She has the same last name, but her first name is different. They’re sisters, don’t you see? Twins. And didn’t you see her when she walked in? She had a totally different attitude. She’s just trying to play you. Don’t fall for her —” The girl falters.

Because in the few seconds she’d been talking, I dropped it — the act, I dropped it all. Mitsuri disappeared, and I came back. I stand up straight, tall, and confident, and I let Mitsuri’s nervous smile vanish only to be replaced by the smirk my face muscles are all too familiar with.

Ogiwara and the girl’s mouths both drop open at the transformation.

“That’s right,” I say. “I’m not Kasayama Mitsuri. My name is Reiha. Kasayama Reiha. It’s very nice to meet you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So why Ogiwara? He's one of the lesser-known characters, that's for sure. But in choosing characters to contrast with Akashi's story, Ogiwara's seemed to fit the best. I know some people have written on Ogiwara going to Rakuzan, so I guess this idea isn't entirely original (although I didn't know that when I started this), but I think it's interesting, considering the history between the two. Since we don't have as much info on Ogiwara, that gave me a bit room to play with his character without having to worry too much about being accurate, which is something I struggled a lot with Akashi (he's one of the hardest KnB characters for me to write).
> 
> So far, it's clear that the sisters have some stuff that need to be worked through . . . I'm actually not too confident in my ability to write a sister relationship (even though I have an older sister myself), but I hope so far it's okay. There's a lot of things that are being hinted to, but as you read on, hopefully things will become more clear.
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this (or even if you didn't), I would love to hear your thoughts. :)
> 
> ~ J. Dominique


	3. Mitsuri

The day isn’t even halfway over, and I’ve already garnered more attention than I did for the entire last year.

“Kasayama-san, was that your sister I saw out in the halls? I didn’t know you had a twin!”

“Kasayama-san, your sister is really different from you!”

“Kasayama-san!”

My head starts to pound. Apparently, Reiha has already made a name for herself — and even had the gall to imitate me. What goes through her mind, I have no idea.

I felt bad last night, after the way I treated her. What happened to us . . . what I did . . . none of that’s her fault. Really, most of it falls on me. Although it’s only the difference of minutes, I am the older twin. And I’d abandoned her because of my own fear and anxiety. I wouldn’t blame her if she hates me now.

But still . . . having someone like her around again, the very antithesis of my own self . . . just how am I supposed to deal with this?

During lunch break, I escape from my classroom and to one of Rakuzan’s less populated outdoor areas. Finally, peace and quiet. It’s chilly today but the air is still, and after my hectic morning, I feel calmed by the gentle atmosphere. After finishing my bentō, I pull out my notebook. I’d doodled some sketches of Akashi’s eyes yesterday, so today I work on fine-tuning the details, making the edges darker and sharper. (At one point, my drawing becomes so intense that my pencil punches through the paper, much to my displeasure. It had almost been a perfect representation of his eye, too.)

I’d also written some possible dates to start up the debate club again. I review them in my head as I draw, deciding on the best ones. I’ll have to put up a flyer to advertise for new members. I should sketch that out, too. Debate is one of the few social things I’ve enjoyed in my school life. It’s straightforward, with no room for ambiguity. You spend your whole time arguing your opinion, and being controversial is the whole point. But thinking about entering into a tournament, where it doesn’t matter what your opinion is, as long as you argue well . . . anxiety at the task rises inside me, and I reach inside my sweater pocket and feel the coin.

I’m about to draw it out, but then my gaze falls upon my ruined sketch. The right eye is nearly an exact imitation of Akashi’s, but the left eye has a jagged hole in the pupil, marring the image. But . . . something about that incomplete gaze stirs me.

I release a breath, and my hand leaves my pocket. Sighing, I turn over a new page, one not riddled with holes, and begin churning out ideas for the debate team.

The club meets a few days later — all the old members return, making a hearty eight of us, and then there are a few hopeful first-years, three in total, which is more than enough for a proper debate team.

I’d let Akashi know when we were convening, per his request, and he’d nodded without comment. But as I survey our motley group, the strange red-headed captain of the basketball team, not to mention the student body president of the whole school . . . is not in attendance.

I am not sure if I am disappointed or not.

He is probably busy elsewhere and could not come.

It’s not like coming to debate is a priority.

“U-um, hello,” I say, facing the collection of students before me. I’m relieved by the turnout. “My name is Kasayama Mitsuri. Welcome to the debate club. Usually, we choose topics to discuss and just allow our minds to engage in heavy participation and passionate learning from both sides. We’ll practice techniques and learn more about what makes a good argument. Rakuzan doesn’t have a lot of opportunities for us right now, but I’m sure, if we practice, we can achieve greater things.”

Perhaps I’d rehearsed that a bit. I hope it sounded fine.

The first-years eyes are wide, but they nod their heads.

“If you want to join the club,” I continue, “you can turn your applications in tomorrow. We usually meet weekly, same day. However, that can be changed if the majority of you have conflicting schedules.”

Consecutive nods once again.

For the rest of the meeting, I let people put forth discussion ideas, and I observe the group’s new atmosphere with the added three first-years, already thinking of the different teams I’ll put them in and activities I might do.

Once our time is up, there’s a chorus of thanks to me, and the students begin to leave.

I’m the last one in the room, marking a few things in my notebook, but when I look up, I realize someone has been watching me.

“How long have you been there?” I blurt out.

“Long enough,” Akashi Seijūrō replies. “You did well.”

At my hesitation, he gives a one-shouldered shrug and a slight smile directed at me. I have a hard time telling if it’s meant to be friendly or not. “It’s impressive for you to already have established an active club in your second year. Not many students have the dedication or ability for that. I’m sure if you work hard, you’ll be able to gain external awards as well.”

I am taken aback by his bluntness. “Ah. Is that so? Thank you, then.”

“You’re welcome,” he says, as if he comments daily on people’s strengths and weaknesses (which, maybe he does). “Are you leaving now?”

“Yes, I am.”

“I believe your sister is waiting for you.”

“Reiha?”

I’d nearly forgotten about her. I’d told her that I was meeting with my club today, but I hadn’t expected her to stay at the school the whole time. I thought she’d go home without me.

Akashi’s eyes are level on me. He is not that much taller than me, surprising for a basketball player, but I fidget under his gaze. It must be his aura that makes him seem more powerful than he appears.

He says, “The basketball team is in need of a new manager, Kasayama-san.”

It takes me a moment to figure out what he is implying. “But I’m already in a club,” I say.

Idiot. A big point of Rakuzan is to join multiple clubs in order to gain greater experience in different fields. Of course, some students choose to stay in only one club to focus on that club or their academics more, but a high percentage of students find themselves wrapped up into two different organizations.

“If I didn’t think you could handle it, I would not offer,” he says delicately.

“But — I don’t know anything about basketball.”

“That can easily be fixed. Does your sister play?”

“Reiha? I — I think . . . yeah. She used to be into sports.”

He cocks his head. “Why don’t you ask, then? We could use two managers.”

He’s caught me off-guard. I’d started speaking without thinking, but who am I to judge what Reiha would or wouldn’t want to do? I swallow. “Yes, all right, then. I’ll think about it. And I’ll ask Reiha. Thank you for the offer, Akashi-kun. I . . . I’m flattered that you think I could hold such a position.”

He turns his head, slightly to the left and slightly up. The light from the window — a dusk beam — catches the red in his hair, turning it almost crimson. My breath catches. I want to draw that. I want to draw him.

He says, “I look forward to your answer.”

* * *

Reiha is leaning against the wall, the hall empty around her. She scuffs her shoe against the floor, then lifts her foot up and inspects the heel.

“You didn’t have to wait for me,” I tell her.

“Didn’t have anything better to do,” she says.

In the few days since school has started, we’ve walked to and from school together. During these times, she’s always overly polite, which makes me feel like I’m being made fun of, but I haven’t stopped her yet. This morning, she mentioned that she thinks she knows the route well enough to walk by herself — saying that she needs the extra sleep since I get up a half hour before her — which is why I’m surprised she didn’t already go home. Yet despite the prospect of having my quiet walks back . . . I don’t feel disappointed to see her.

“How was your club?” she asks.

I’m not sure if she’s actually interested. “It was good, thanks.”

I had, of course, asked her if she wanted to join. I thought maybe she’d like arguing as a sport, and maybe it’d be a good way for us to bond again. To my surprise, she’d said no. She hadn’t really given an explanation either; just shrugged and said debate wasn’t really her thing. I was a little disheartened, but I guess things aren’t that easy.

As we begin our walk home, I think about how I should break to her what Akashi asked of me. Will she say basketball isn’t her thing either? I reach inside my pocket, fingering the coin, but leave it there and instead just begin to speak. “So . . . Reiha.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you know Akashi-kun? That is . . . Akashi Seijūrō? He’s a second-year like us. He’s the student president.”

Her face screws up in thought. “Uh . . . nah, I don’t think so. I mean, I just got here a couple days ago.”

“Right. Well, he’s captain of the basketball team also, and he was wondering if you and I wanted to help manage the team.”

“Manage the team?”

“Ah —” I flush, realizing how that sounded, and my fingers inadvertently curl around the coin hidden in my pocket. But I don’t dare draw it out in front of her. “Be co-managers of the team, I suppose.”

Her brow furrows. “Well . . . sure, I guess.”

She accepted? My mouth nearly falls open in astonishment, considering her reaction to my last club proposal. And yet, this kind of thing isn’t unlike her. When we were kids, she was always the one making decisions at a split-second rate, without ever thinking about the consequences. Her actions got us into more trouble than I can count.

But . . . it’s always been something I’ve admired in her.

“Do you play basketball?” I ask.

“I’ve played a few times in America,” she says. “Not as a sport, though.” She gives me a teasing smile. “Still, it’s more up my alley than debate.”

I relax at her words. “So you’ll be familiar with it, at least. You’ll have to help teach me the techniques and forms.”

She nods. “But as manager, I won’t be able to play. Rakuzan doesn’t have a girls team.”

“Who knows?” I say. “Perhaps Akashi-kun will let you play some.”

Knowing him and his unpredictability, anything is possible.

Reiha’s face is still scrunched up, and she is glancing at me weird. She says, “This Akashi fellow. What’s he like?”

“Huh? Why do you ask?”

“Your face goes strange when you mention him.”

I blink and immediately try to straighten my expression. “I — well, he’s the captain of the team, like I said. And student body president. He’s a very accomplished person. Top of the class.”

“So he’s smart _and _good at sports? That’s just not fair.”

I let a smile slip onto my face. “Yes, it seems that way.”

“Hang on, is he good-looking as well? If you say he is, I swear . . .”

It takes me a moment to reply. Because while I’ve thought about drawing Akashi, and I confess that I _have _been fascinated with his eyes . . . have I ever thought of him as actually being attractive? Sure, there are plenty of girls in my class that would say so. Actually, most of the female population of Rakuzan would say Akashi Seijūrō is nice on the eyes.

While I can, objectively, tell if someone is attractive or not, most people seem to link the idea of being pretty or handsome with the notion of being lovable. And for me, I’ve never entertained the idea of love because of its temporal nature and false promises. To admit out loud that someone is attractive, instead of just hiding it within my drawings, almost feels like a declaration of love. Even if it is just to Reiha.

But . . .

_It doesn_ _’t mean anything. _

“Yes,” I finally decide. “He is good-looking.”

“Now that’s _really _unfair,” Reiha complains.


	4. Reiha

Accepting to be the manager of Rakuzan’s basketball team wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. But Mitsuri’s question caught me off-guard, and before I knew it, the words had slipped out of my mouth.

I’d planned to just be a part of the go-home club (a rare occurrence in Rakuzan, but something I was hoping I could get away with), but it could be worse. I could be part of her debate club. At least this way, I’ll be able to watch basketball.

Since Mitsuri is dealing with her new first-years today, I’m heading to the gym on my own. She doesn’t expect the application process to last too long, so she’ll join me later. I’ve passed by the gym several times — when exploring the school, and yesterday, when I was waiting for Mitsuri — but I’ve never actually been inside.

The squeaking of shoes greets me as I near the facility, and I find my steps lightening, eager to be in the atmosphere of flying balls and vigorous exorcises. As I step into the gym, my eyes widen slightly — it’s bigger than I thought it’d be, but I suppose that’s Rakuzan for you. Clean and well taken care of, the place is clearly a spot of pride for the school.

And its students as well.

A few heads turn when I enter. I cock my head at them. I can tell who are the first-years and who are the regulars by the way some turn away, nervous from my stare, while others hold my gaze, sizing up their new manager.

Just as I’m wondering what I should do next, someone says, “You must be Kasayama Reiha.”

The voice is almost quiet — but in a way, it’s loud, too. The way it’s spoken, each word enunciated clearly, leaves no room for confusion, and each syllable is direct, almost commanding. A sound of confidence.

I must try to master this way of speaking.

I turn to the owner of the voice, a boy not much taller than me. Despite his height, he carries himself with an easy grace. His eyes glance over me, as my own study him.

“Akashi Seijūrō,” I say, because there’s no other person he could be.

And how unfair, he really is attractive. Normally, I’m pretty good at reading a person and figuring out what makes them tick, but Akashi has a strange air about him that makes it difficult. He seems quietly confident, perhaps a bit arrogant even. Even though he’s smaller in stature, his almost-intimidating gaze coupled with a regal posture more than make up for it. He seems like the type who knows what he wants, knows how to get it, and knows what will happen once he’s received it.

The thought makes me uncomfortable. Perceptive people have always weirded me out, the type of people who can almost read your thoughts. I don’t like anyone seeing inside of me.

“Yes.” Akashi nods. “Your sister informed me that you’d accepted the position as manager here.”

“Um . . . yeah.”

His eyes narrow at me. “Well, then, welcome to the basketball club. We are recruiting new members today, as well as looking for a new power forward to be a regular. Are you familiar with basketball at all, Kasayama-san?”

“I’ve played before,” I say vaguely.

“Very good. Then, if you will, you can sit over there and observe the team. I will have everyone introduce themselves shortly.”

I nod, though I dislike being put aside to “observe,” and move over to where he indicated.

By now, most of the club members have arrived. I’m surprised by how large it is, but I suppose I shouldn’t have been. Rakuzan is known for excelling in both academics and sports.

Akashi outlines the schedule for the day and then separates the students into three groups by their year. He has them call our their names and positions they’d like to play. He gives me a pointed look, as if to say, “Pay attention,” but I’m already taking in all the people. A great deal of them have height on their side, which is always helpful. A few of the shorter ones seem average at first, but upon a second glance, you see their calm demeanor, their gazes that flick from side to side — the smart types. As for the second- and third-year regulars, you can tell they’re all seasoned warriors. They stretch as the first-years shout out their names, patient but eager to start practice.

A smile slips onto my face.

_Nice. _

We near the end of the first-year newbies and come to the second-years — or rather, the only second-year. I hadn’t noticed him before, and it takes me for surprise at first.

Ogiwara Shigehiro.

The poor kid I duped on the first day of school. He hasn’t spoken to me since, even though we sit next to each other. I’ve caught his knees bouncing and I’ve felt his sideways gazes, but I think he’s been too scared to try and talk to me again. Well, you can’t say I don’t leave strong impressions.

“Hello!” he says, waving a hand in the air. “My name is Ogiwara Shigehiro. I know I’m a second-year, but I’d still like to try and join the basketball club.” He glances at Akashi, whose face shows no emotion, swallows, and continues. “I played small forward during middle school, but I’m fine with any position.”

A flexible type, then? I guess that fits.

“Very well,” Akashi says, bringing everyone’s attention back to himself. “Next, we’ll be doing some exercises to test your strengths and abilities. Also, later today, we will be choosing a new power forward for regular. Before we move onto that, though, I would like to introduce you to one of our new managers. Kasayama Reiha.”

I stand up as everyone’s heads turn toward me. Ogiwara’s eyes widen at the sight of me, and he averts his gaze after a moment.

“Hello,” I say. “Um, it’s good to be here. I look forward to working with you all.”

There are some polite words in return and even a few whoops.

Akashi continues, “Kasayama-san will be working with her sister to help the basketball team. Please make them both welcome.”

A wave of heads bobs up and down.

After that, the coach, along with Akashi and a few other of the regulars, lead the first-years and Ogiwara in some training exercises. As far as stamina and endurance goes, most are miserably lacking. Dribbling and shooting skills are higher than I expected, but there is still quite a bit of fine-tuning in need. Also, most of the players need to work on their offense and defense and teamwork cooperation.

But all in all, I think we have a good crop.

And Ogiwara, perhaps because he is a second-year, stands out the most. Both in energy and potential, both of which never seem to run out. He always seems to smile, and he’s always saying something encouraging to one of the first-years even when they look like they’re about to puke.

“Kasayama-san.”

I start at the voice, realizing I’d been absorbed in my thoughts. “Oh, Akashi . . . _kun_.” (I almost forget the honorific. I haven’t had to use one in so long.) “What is it you need?”

He nods his head toward the students. “What are your thoughts?”

“I think they all have a lot of potential,” I say.

He smiles. “Indeed. Then let me ask you this: who would you pick for the power forward?”

I glance at him. “Out of the new students? That’s a strange question. I thought the position would go to one of the second- or third-years. Because they’ve been here longer.”

“That is usually the way it is done,” he agrees. “But I believe Rakuzan needs someone with a fresh perspective, don’t you?”

“I haven’t been here that long, either,” I point out.

“True enough. But even so, there is someone you would choose, is there not?”

“Well . . .” I hesitate. “He’s a second-year, so perhaps that would help, since he has more experience.”

Akashi nods, knowing immediately who I’m talking about. “Ogiwara Shigehiro,” he muses. Then, “I think you will be a good manager for Rakuzan, Kasayama-san. I will let you tell him the news.”

With that, he leaves.

I stare after him. No wonder my sister’s face goes weird every time she talks about him.

But Akashi’s strange manners aside . . . did he really just say that I’m supposed to tell Ogiwara he’s the new power forward?

He must have no idea what happened a few days ago.

No, actually, he probably does, and that’s precisely why he’s doing this.

Oh, this is going to be a fun year.

* * *

“Oi, Ogiwara, c’mere.”

Ogiwara’s head snaps up at my voice, and he immediately goes pale. You’d think I was the Death Reaper calling in his time or something.

We’re outside the gym, most of the others having left now, and he’s washing off by one of the outdoor sinks. A hand towel lies nearby, ready to be used. The water slicks his hair in weird places, but I find it funny-looking and still sort of cute.

“K-Kasayama-san,” he mumbles.

I wave a hand. “Just call me Reiha. Otherwise, it’d get confusing with my sister, right?”

His cheeks go red.

“Anyway, I talked to Akashi, and we’ve both decided.”

“Decided on what?”

“You.”

“What?” His face is blank in confusion.

“You’re going to be the new power forward for Rakuzan. You know, provided that you work well with the team and that you keep your grades up and don’t crash and that you can handle having Akashi as your captain and all.”

His eyes become large. “Me?” His voice squeaks. “But I’m —”

“I told you,” I say, “Akashi and I already agreed on it. If you want to refuse, I guess you can. But why would you?”

He swallows. “Akashi . . . I didn’t think he’d be happy about having me here. I never thought he would choose me as a power forward.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“N-never mind. I’ll accept — I mean, I accept. I’ll be the power forward for Rakuzan.”

I grin. “That’s the spirit.”

He glances down at the water pooling in the sink, then splashes his hands again and rubs them through his hair. Maybe to make sure this isn’t a dream.

I say, “You know . . . about the other day. . .”

He whirls around, drops of water dripping down his cheek. “I — I don’t mind that you did that,” he says, his voice shaking somewhat. “I don’t know why you did or why you felt the need to. But I won’t fall for it again. I won’t —”

My grin widens, and before I know it, I’m just a step away from him. A loud breath escapes from him.

“Kasayama-san, what are you —”

“Reiha,” I say. “Didn’t I tell you to call me Reiha?”

My hand darts out, and I grab the nearby towel and throw it over his head, covering his face. He sputters, and I just laugh.


	5. Mitsuri

Despite my best efforts to wrap up the debate applications, the newest batch of first-years seem keen on peppering me with questions and I’m forced to stay later than I planned. I hope Reiha won’t be angry with me.

Yesterday, after my surprise of Reiha accepting the position had waned, I’d sat in my room and thought about what I should do. On one hand, I had my responsibility with the debate club. But it was also true that Rakuzan encourages you to be a part of a second club for more experience. And yet . . . basketball? I’d never even watched the sport, let alone played it.

After hours of doing the homework that had already piled up and mulling about my decision, I finally took my coin and flipped it. It landed on the flower side, though the impression is fading after so many years of rubbing my fingers against the metal.

So today, after I’ve managed to pull myself away from the first-years, I quickly make my way to the gym. As I’d expected, it’s mostly empty by now, but to my surprise, I see Reiha standing by a boy, laughing. He’d been washing off, a towel on his head now. She says something to him, and he shrugs, a small smile on his face.

“Reiha!” I call out.

She turns at my voice. “Oh. Mitsuri. Club run late?”

Fortunately, she doesn’t seem irritated.

“Yeah, sorry about that. How did basketball go?”

She glances at the boy. “Good. We got to meet the first-years and then we chose the new power forward. Ogiwara Shigehiro.” She motions to him.

My eyebrow rises. One of the first-years who’d applied today had mentioned an Ogiwara trying out for basketball. I commit his name and face to memory. “Oh, really? Congrats, then.”

I’m still a bit fuzzy on basketball positions and plays, but I know a bit more than the average person, thanks to Reiha briefing me last night. Ogiwara must be good if he’s already secured a regular position at Rakuzan.

“Thanks,” he says, grinning.

“Ah, Kasayama-san, you’re here.”

The three of us turn at the smooth voice to face none other than Akashi Seijūrō. His eyes alight upon me, an appraising look in them. I swallow. “Sorry I’m late,” I say. “I was —”

He waves a hand. “Do not apologize. I’m fully aware that you have other club duties, which I why I recruited your sister as well. In fact, you should make your debate club your priority. You are its president, after all. If the basketball club ever becomes a distraction or burden, do not hesitate to give the debate team your full attention.”

I feel mollified by his words.

“Thank you,” I say.

His eyes flick over to Ogiwara and Reiha. He says to Reiha, “Good job out there today. You show promise as a manager.”

He says nothing to Ogiwara, though.

Ogiwara blinks, hurt clear on his face, then he mutters something I can’t hear, turns, and runs off in the distance. Reiha stares after him before giving Akashi a shrewd look.

Undeterred, Akashi then says, “I would like to go over some things with the both of you. Do you have the time?”

We nod in unison, and Akashi begins speaking in earnest about the basketball team.

You can see it in his eyes, the passion.

I want to ask him how he started basketball. I want to ask him how he began to love it so much. And I want to ask him . . . out of everyone, why he asked me and Reiha to help him.

* * *

I quickly adjust to my new routine. School during the day, debate club once a week, and basketball the rest of the time, where I’ll observe the team before discussing strategy and techniques with Reiha and helping organize the clubroom. Sometimes our conversations will even continue to the evenings after school.

It was on one of these nights that Reiha approached me, almost shy for her, and asked if I could help her with homework. I’d been doing my own at the time, but until this point, she had never indicated she was struggling. Of course, before she first arrived, I wondered if she would have trouble. Rakuzan is an academic powerhouse (as well as a top-of-the-line athletic school, obviously), and in the past, she’d never gotten her A’s easily.

Once at dinnertime, Reiha offhandedly mentioned her homeschooling by our mom was flexible, but at the time, I hadn’t thought she might be having trouble now.

When we were kids, I would help her with the sciences and maths, the memorizations of history, the grammar of English. In turn, she helped keep my head above water in P.E., home economics, and art. She excelled in anything hands-on, while I preferred the comfort of textbooks.

In fact, she was the first person to encourage me to pursue art. In one of our classes in elementary school, I was dutifully copying a bowl of fruit onto the paper, shading in all the right ways, and coloring in the shapes with my crayons. It was Reiha who had looked at my piece and declared, “Boring!” Her own drawing was a mess of colors, each fruit nearly indistinguishable from the next, and yet when I looked at it, I found myself entranced.

_Is that what art really is? _I remember thinking.

Before, each of us had our own strengths. And yet now, I don’t know how to balance us out. So when she asked for help, something that clearly she hadn’t wanted to do, despite usually being so forward, of course I accepted. While we’d gotten more comfortable around each other due to the basketball club, it’s still rare for us to hang out in the house together or to talk about something other than the new moves the players are learning or the neighboring team’s stats.

For once, even if we weren’t talking about each other or spilling our deepest secrets, I felt like we were sisters again.

* * *

Despite whatever troubles she has with her other classes, Reiha is unexpectedly keen and motivated with the basketball team. Yet often when she tries to initiate her ideas, they end up falling through halfway. I suppose that’s where I come in — to balance her assertiveness with some caution. Since she is also more well-versed in basketball, it’s better for her to watch the players during practice and takes notes on their strengths and weaknesses, and then after, share them with me, while explaining the different aspects of the sport. Sometimes, Akashi will join in, and it’s in those times that Reiha and I both wonder why we’re even managing the team.

Probably because he is busy doing so many other things he simply doesn’t have the time, even if he is often faster and more productive than both Reiha and I put together.

One day, I’ve stayed late, wrapping up some data when Akashi enters the clubroom. He doesn’t make a sound and it takes me a moment to even notice his presence.

I start, nearly dropping the papers.

“Forgive me,” he says. The dusk light filters through the room, shadowing him. “I should’ve announced myself.”

“I . . . you’re fine. I was just surprised, is all.”

“Did . . . your sister already go home?”

“Yes. She said was hungry.”

There is a slight smile on his face. “It is getting dark. You should head home soon as well.”

I frown and shuffle the papers together. “Then, wouldn’t that hold true for you, too?”

He blinks, like he hadn’t thought of that.

Sometimes, he is like that. In our casual exchanges, whenever discussions about the team merge with real life, sometimes I’ll notice that he never seems to talk about himself. Never even seems to consider himself. I wonder if there is a reason why, or if he simply just chooses to focus on others.

“Very well,” he says. “I will walk you home, then.”

This time, I do drop the papers. They scatter to the floor with a whishing sound like wind, and I watch in slight despair as all the info on the team gets jumbled up from my small mistake.

He is at my side in an instant, helping me pick them up. His slender fingers slide across the floor, reaching for the papers with an ease of motion I can never manage.

“You . . . you don’t have to walk me home,” I say as we both finish gathering up the rest of the papers. I think of the rumors people might make if they see us; I think of what Grandpa would say if he knew I was walking home alone with a boy; I imagine Reiha teasing me and making up ridiculous stories about being in love . . .

He hands the last few pages to me, and I tuck them into a folder, placing them on a table so I don’t drop them again. I take a moment to gather my thoughts before turning to face him again.

“Do you not want me to?” he asks.

His voice is serious. His gaze is level on me.

It takes me a moment to realize how close we are. In dropping the papers, he’d been forced to close the distance between us, to bend down next to me, and now he is looking at me, his face only a few inches from mine.

I’ve never seen his eyes so close up before.

I can’t look away.

I swear I can almost feel the weight of the coin in my pocket, but I don’t reach for it.

“No,” I say, and my voice comes out surprisingly even. “I would like for you to. Thank you for the offer, Akashi-kun.”

There is that small smile again. It changes his face somewhat. Softens it and lightens his eyes. I want to see more of it.

* * *

After finishing up the club work, the two of us leave the gym. It’s my favorite time of evening, right between day and night, when the sky begins to take on purplish hues, and the air stills and the world slows.

Most students have already left the school campus, and no one sees us leave together. Although I know Akashi won’t do anything to me, I’m still nervous.

Nervous . . . in a different kind of way, I suppose.

This _is _Akashi Seijūrō we’re talking about, after all. And although I never made it a point to listen to the rumors people said about him, I knew that every day he’s dropped off and picked up by a chauffeur.

That’s how I start our conversation. “Don’t you have . . . a car?”

He adjusts the handle on his bag and glances at me. “I informed him that I would be staying late today.”

“Do you live far from here?”

“Yes,” he says. “But I’ve memorized the train lines, and sometimes I enjoy the walk.”

“I’m . . . not too far,” I say. “I usually take the bus. It’s the stop a few blocks away.”

He hums in response, and my cheeks heat. What a _mundane _topic. He must be wishing he’d taken his car home instead.

But to my surprise, he speaks before I can. “I wanted to thank you for your work so far in the basketball club.”

“Ah, right . . . I was wondering about that. Why Reiha and me?”

“Rakuzan is a big school,” he begins. “And our basketball team is elite. Because of our size, we’ve always required more than one manager . . . we’d had two lined up for this year, but as coincidence would have it, both decided to quit and join other clubs.”

“Still,” I say, “I’m sure there are plenty of other people who would love to be a manager of the team.”

Namely, girls with a crush on Akashi.

“There are,” he concedes. “But I thought it best to employ someone with both experience and a fresh perspective. You’ve clearly done well in organizing the debate club, and your sister brings new ideas from America with her.”

I consider his words, then nod. “Well, I am grateful for the opportunity. . . . I haven’t been here for long, but I’ve enjoyed learning about the sport.”

“I’m glad.”

His face is angled away from me, and I can’t see clearly in the fading light, but I think . . . he might be smiling. There were some times last year, when I would watch him . . . along with everyone else in the vicinity. Our eyes would follow his every movement, but he never once flinched under our stares.

And he never once smiled.

“You’ve changed.”

It takes me a moment to realize I said that out loud.

“I — I mean —”

He inclines his head, turning his face toward me. “No, you’re right,” he says. “These last few months have been difficult for me, but perhaps this year can be different.”

I am struck by the way he speaks. Although not using formal speech, his words have a certain stiffness to them, a scripted quality, like someone answering questions from an interview. He’s eloquent, certainly, but somehow . . . distant.

“We can make it better,” I blurt out. “I’m on your team now, right? I’ll help . . . so that this year can be the best it’s ever been.”

I’m taken aback by my audacity, and I think he is, too. For a moment, I want to take back the words. Akashi doesn’t seem like the type to appreciate meaningless sentimentalities and empty promises.

But instead, he just nods. And then I realize we’re at the bus stop, and I can already see the bus incoming.

“This is your stop, isn’t it?” he says. He makes a vague motion with his hands.

And it hits me that, maybe, he isn’t as good at conversing as everyone seems to think. That he’s a little shy, a little awkward . . . and maybe, just a little, imperfect.

I turn to him, grinning, and say, “Yes. Thank you for walking me here.”

It’s somehow liberating, knowing that the perfect Akashi may not actually be that perfect, that he actually is the same age as me, and that . . . he’s just as normal as any other boy.

“See you tomorrow,” I say, giving a little wave as the bus lowers to the ground and opens its doors.

“See you,” he echoes.

Once I’m seated, I peer through the window to where he still stands near the bench. Is it just me, or is there a slightly dazed look on his face? As if . . . something has just happened to him that he’s never experienced before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, but I really like the idea of Akashi being secretly very socially awkward. I mean, it's confirmed that he can't tell jokes, right (which is kind of adorable).
> 
> Also, I'm going to ramble in this next paragraph, so feel free to ignore. Anyway, I'm super interested in the Myers-Briggs Typology Indicator (MBTI), so of course, I like to try and type my favorite characters. Akashi is often mistakenly typed as INTJ (which is my own type), when in reality, he's ENTJ. INTJs and ENTJs are similar types because they share the same cognitive functions, which ultimately determine your pattern of thought and what drives your behavior. INTJs are often stereotyped as villains, while ENTJs are portrayed as big CEOs or something. People often try to type Akashi as INTJ because INTJs have dominant Introverted Intuition, which is often incorrectly interpreted as being able to see the future, which is then thought to translate into Akashi's Emperor Eye. But Emperor Eye is simply an ability, not a facet of his behavior. In reality, Akashi is ENTJ because he favors Extroverted Thinking for his dominant function. He's an amazing leader, incredibly driven, and result-oriented. Furthermore, his weakness is his inferior Introverted Feeling, which translates to his low sense of self. Seriously, I read one of Carl Jung's descriptions (the original creator of the cognitive functions) of Akashi's cognitive functions, and they fit him to a T.
> 
> Sorry for rambling on about this, but I just think MBTI is really interesting, and it kind of irritates me when people type Akashi as INTJ just because he can "see" into the future. And Akashi's personality is amazingly complex, so I love to dive deeper into it, and MBTI helps me understand him a little better. Incidentally, Akashi's personality type is the only one I'm 100% sure of.
> 
> Anyway, sorry for the huge AN. Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> ~ J. Dominique


	6. Reiha

Watching basketball every day really isn’t good for my nerves.

Every time I see a perfect dunk or a nice little turnaround, my body itches to get onto the court, whatever the consequences. Who cares if Akashi’s a little intimidating? It’s not like he can really boot me from the club.

Well, he probably can, but that’s beside the point.

I mean, a girl playing with a bunch of boys just for a few minutes isn’t that scandalous. Especially since I’m good. I’m good, yeah. Probably.

Eventually, I can’t stand it anymore.

Earlier, I passed a street court on the way back from running an errand for Grams. It’s not too far. If I finish my homework quick, I can stop there after dinner.

I just have to get through that.

Both Grams and Gramps understand that Mitsuri and I have lots of homework and stuff so they usually let us do our own thing, but once a week, they require us to sit down and have a nice home-cooked meal with them. Tonight just happens to be that night.

Grams seems to be in a good mood. She’s humming as she stirs together some hot pot, and when I enter the small kitchen and eating area, she gives me a broad smile. I wrinkle my nose at the vegetables simmering in the broth. The food here in Japan is so . . . healthy. I miss the sweet pastries and gelato of Italy, the “fry everything” attitude of America.

“Reiha-chan, how was school today?” she asks. “Oh, and would you mind setting the table for me?”

“Mm, good.” As I begin drawing out plates and silverware from the cabinets, I think back to how Akashi ran a mock game, one side with the five regulars (himself, Mibuchi, Hayama, Nebuya, and now Ogiwara), and the other made up of formidable second- and third-years. Of course, they were still crushed by the former team, but Akashi mainly wanted to see how the five of them could work together. He’s been doing different things with the main five, testing their compatibility as a team. Since Ogiwara brings a new element in, he wants to make sure things still run smoothly. If need be, and they don’t, we’ll have to find a new power forward.

But I can’t really see Ogiwara causing any problems.

Grams smiles. “I’m glad you’ve been enjoying yourself. I was afraid, at first, that you wouldn’t do well and would want to return to your mom, but it seems like things are going pretty well, don’t you agree?”

I’d been reaching for a bowl to set in my place, but at her words, I pause. This is the first time she’s even hinted at _that_. And it seems like Mom didn’t mention that coming here wasn’t my idea.

But . . . perhaps I _am _enjoying myself. Even though every day is the same, I haven’t had a terrible time . . . maybe that’s why it hasn’t come back yet.

I just smile at Grams, though, and say, “Yeah.”

Mitsuri and Gramps enter then, talking in cheerful voices. As they pass by the table, laden with my crooked placements, their hands reach for the plates at the same time, each attempting to correct the unevenness. I roll my eyes. You can definitely see where Mitsuri gets it from.

Grams declares the hot pot ready and we sit down before the table.

For a few seconds, like always, there’s an awkward sort of silence. Then, we all start digging into the food at once, and Gramps starts up some small talk, and Mitsuri and I slowly join in.

It’s gotten better since when I first came here. Back then, the silence lasted longer; the talk was slower to start up; I would wish the meal would end quickly. But now, you might be able to say the atmosphere is mildly pleasant. Still, something feels missing. My mom never cared if I joined them for meals or not, but every so often, we’d try a new restaurant together. Our dinners then were full of chatter and enthusiasm to explore the surrounding shops. The energy here is so much different, so refined, people never saying what they want — I feel like I’m being strangled.

But then. That’s hypocritical of me.

After dinner, I make my excuses and head out, dribbling a ball I’d bought as I walk to the court. Some of Grams’s good mood must have seeped into me, because I hum to myself and continue to think over the last couple weeks. It’s been more entertaining than I thought. Having something to occupy my thoughts and time is somehow liberating.

The court is empty when I arrive, and I grin to myself. Lucky. I immediately dash to the hoop and attempt a one-handed dunk. I’m not very tall, but my jumping power isn’t bad — unfortunately for me, it’s been a long time since I’ve practiced (the last time in America, where I got promptly squashed by several men with heights pushing seven feet), and I never quite got the hang of dunks.

I fall flat onto my bottom. The ball goes flying to the other side of the court.

Rubbing my now-sore backside, I shake my head a little and go to retrieve the ball. For some reason, I don’t feel disappointed. Maybe watching all the others play basketball has been good for me — it’s fired me up.

I don’t know how long I practice for. Dribbling, shooting, even a few more dunks, which I fail at.

Eventually, my arms begin to ache, but I feel pleased with myself. For not having played in a while, I’ve picked it up again rather quickly.

I want to play more.

More.

I stand at one end of the court, facing the opposite goal. Holding the ball in my hand, I dart forward as fast as I can. The ball moves easily through my fingers, up and down in a smooth rhythm, and then — I jump.

I slam the ball through the hoop.

A perfect dunk.

“Wow.”

I jerk around as my feet hit the ground, my eyes widening at the voice.

Ogiwara Shigehiro stares at me, his eyes as large as mine. He says, “That was really awesome. I didn’t know you actually played basketball.”

My back stiffens for a moment, but then I relax. I say, “Well, sometimes a manager has to have experience, right?”

“Does Kasayama-san — ah, that is, your sister — play?”

I shake my head. Then I see the basketball he’s cradling in his own hands. “You came here to play, too,” I surmise. “Obviously. I’ll get out of your way, then.”

“No, wait.” He holds up a hand, and I pause on my way to retrieve my own ball.

“What is it?” I say, my voice almost cautious.

“Play with me,” he says.

“What?”

“Well, isn’t it more fun with two people than just one?”

He drops his ball to the ground, and it rolls for a few seconds before coming to a stop right before my feet. My eyes linger on it before jumping back to Ogiwara’s face. He is earnest.

“Okay,” I say.

He approaches me, his gait easy-going, a smile on his face. I eye him carefully before turning my attention to my own ball and scooping it up into my arms. “I’ll go on offense first,” I say, without room for compromise.

He bobs his head. I briefly wonder if there is anything that gets this kid down.

While he guards his goal, I dribble the ball experimentally a few times. Switching between my left and my right hand, I eventually choose to dominate with my left. My flexibility in basketball is one of my strengths — while most players favor one hand over the other, I can easily switch between both. I’m not actually ambidextrous, but in basketball, you could say both of my hands are equally strong.

I’ve already observed Ogiwara, and he is a dominant right-hand, like most. He’s caught off-guard by the switch, and as I run toward him, the ball thumping on the ground, he struggles to adjust. Too slow. I pass him by, and then the basket is right in front of me —

I jump, going for a layup — but then he’s right there, and his hand knocks the ball away from the hoop. I gasp slightly despite myself, and we both tumble back to the ground. I barely catch myself, and my knees bend to keep from falling to the ground.

“You’re fast,” he says, his eyes bright. “But you can tell . . . you haven’t played with other people much, have you?”

I scowl. Is it that obvious? My defense may be a little lacking, yes, but I can usually make up for it. When I’d play with kids on street courts, I could usually surprise them, being a girl and all. Although, there was that one time. A fiery redhead had been playing on the court, and to my surprise, he spoke Japanese. He was one of the few people to play against me his hardest, and he even taught me a few things about the sport. We only played together for about a week before he disappeared. I wonder if he’s still in America, or if he’s in Japan now, too.

“I can practice with you if you want,” Ogiwara says, drawing me out of my thoughts.

“No, thanks,” I say. I pick up the ball and roll it through my fingers. “I’ll play with you this one time, though.”

“Awesome,” he says. “But if you want to get better, you can’t do it all alone.”

I feel somewhat offended by his frankness, but also kind of . . . grateful. My heart speeds up. It’s been a while since someone’s spoken to me like that. A smile slips onto my face. I say, “How long have you been playing basketball?”

“Huh?” He looks caught off-guard by the question. “Since I was a little kid, I guess. I don’t really remember. I’ve always loved it.”

That must be nice, I think. To not even know when you began to love something. I’ve never been so passionate about something like that before.

“What about you?” he asks.

“Me? I began in middle school. Just for fun.”

“You’re pretty good for starting just a few years ago,” he says. “Honestly, I would’ve thought you’d been playing since you were a kid, too.”

I grin at the compliment. “Really? Thanks.”

“Anyway —” He glances at the ball in my hand. “K-Kasayama-san —”

“Reiha.”

“Huh?”

“Call me Reiha. I already told you that.”

His face turns red.

“C’mon,” I say, “I’ve already gotten Akashi to do it.”

“W-what?!” His face turns pale at the mention of our captain.

“Yeah,” I say, thinking back to the exchange.

_“Kasayama-san.” Akashi approached Mitsuri and I, a few loose papers in his hands. _

_“Yes?” Both Mitsuri and I turned our heads. Then glanced at each other. _

_Akashi blinked. _ _“Ah . . . both of you, I mean,” he clarified. _

_“Well,” I said, “to prevent further confusion on that matter, you can just call me Reiha.” _

_ He blinked again, but then smiled, the first time I_ _’d seen it. “Very well, then, Reiha.” _

“See?” I say to Ogiwara after relaying the story. “He had no problem with it at all.”

“B-but that’s —” He continues sputtering.

“In return,” I continue, “I’ll call you Shige. So you won’t feel uncomfortable.”

“That just makes it even worse!”

* * *

That night, I sit down with the intention of finishing my homework only to see — a new email. My chest tightens, despite knowing it’s only from my mom, and my fingers inadvertently go to my necklace.

I open the message, and my eyes skim over the words: _How are you doing? . . . I’m sure you’ve been busy with school . . . your stepfather and I . . . _

Some people sound different via text or email than in real person, but somehow Mom seems exactly the same. Her bubbly way of talking, her tendency to get off-track . . . an ache rises in me as I read her words, but I stuff it back down.

The pointer hovers over the reply button, but I hesitate. Sometimes, when Mom and I would talk about Mitsuri, she would mention the emails she got from her, how they were always well thought out and organized.

“It’s like I’m reading an essay,” she’d said, laughing. “I wish I had more time to write her . . . but it’s been so busy at work.”

What if it’s just the same for me? I know her busyness isn’t an excuse; she really does hop from one place to another, meeting a new friend every day and finding new places to see. Even now, the email she’s sent me is only a few lines.

In the end, I close out the webpage and try to focus on my homework instead.

She sent me away . . .

But sometimes it feels like I’m the one running away.


	7. Mitsuri

It’s only been a few weeks since I’ve taken on both duties of the debate and basketball club, but I can already feel the change ingraining itself into my body. Although Reiha takes the forefront in basketball club and I’m usually just back-up, being relied on not as a president to lead, but as a manager, gives me a whole other type of satisfaction.

Reiha says nothing to me as she walks toward the gym, but I chat about how our latest stats that she’s gathered seem to report that the team is growing — and at a rapid pace. Having never been involved in sports before, I didn’t know how fulfilling it was to be a part of a team.

Nothing less from Rakuzan, I suppose.

“Hello, Kasayama-san!”

As Reiha and I enter the gym, a boy with a slight figure raises his hand in greeting. I nod and smile. “Hello, Mibuchi-kun.”

Mibuchi Reo is Rakuzan’s main shooting guard, and in contrast to his usually refined manner, he can be quite aggressive on court.

Bright orange hair pops into my vision and the owner eagerly ducks into a quick bow before me. “Hey, Kasayama-san!” Then he glances from me to Reiha and his mouth drops open. He pulls this stunt nearly every time. “Whoa, another Kasayama-san!” Reiha moves to cuff him on the head, but he expertly evades. 

A third body enters into view. Even though I see him nearly every day, I swallow and almost take a step back. He’s huge, his mass towering over me. “Hey there,” he says, then walks away, a ball bouncing in his hand.

“H-hey, Eikichi!” Mibuchi says. “Don’t be rude!” He rolls his eyes and apologizes to me.

At first, their antics had startled me, and I’d had a hard time gauging their actions, but now, their easygoing camaraderie makes me smile.

Akashi is already present, of course, and has changed from his uniform to casual clothes and basketball shoes. In classes, he seems more reticent and distant, the image of a perfectly studious student. But with the club, he is more than ready to smile and give encouragement. I like the difference, however slight it is. It is similar to how he acted with me when he walked me to the bus stop. Even though I’ve never been close to a boy, being with him felt comfortable, especially once I found out that perhaps he isn’t as perfect as he seems. He notices me staring and nods in my direction. My smile widens at the acknowledgment, even as I blush at the same time.

In the locker rooms, I join Reiha and the two of us quickly change from our uniforms. Strangely, she still hasn’t spoken to me. While she is never overly talkative to me, she’s never this quiet. After all, Reiha is the type who loves making her mark on the world — whether by actions or words. But this quiet? That’s not like her at all.

“Is something wrong?” I ask after a moment.

“Huh?” She glances at me, then continues tying her shoes. “Oh, nothing.” She grabs a clipboard with a fresh piece of paper for today and heads out to the court.

Frowning to myself, I shake my head and take her word for it. If there is something wrong, she’ll tell me, or she won’t. I won’t be able to get her to do anything she doesn’t want to.

I grab my own folder of notes and follow her — only to collide with someone who’d been heading for the boys’ locker rooms.

“Oh, it’s Kasayama-san!”

My eyes widen slightly, and a smile slips onto my face. “Ogiwara-kun. Hello.”

He grins broadly. He has an average face, but the way he smiles changes that from your run-of-the-mill to something much more. I wish I could capture that sort of smile. “Yeah,” he says. “I feel like I never get to talk to you. How’s your debate club going? And Murano-kun?” He’s referring to his friend, who had joined my debate club. Compared to Ogiwara, he’s not nearly as boisterous, but he makes up for it with his biting remarks and hard-headed opinions.

“He’s doing great,” I say. “You should stop by sometime if you ever have a break from basketball.”

“Yep! I sure will.”

A few minutes later, Akashi has gathered the students together and outlined the day before starting them in drills. I observe them stretching, doing laps around the building, and then coming back inside for dribbling and shooting exercises. Now that I’m more familiar with the sport, it’s a lot more entertaining to watch. Each person has their own style of handling the ball, interacting with an opponent, and performing their drives and shots.

Watching them sends buzzes of excitement through me, and this isn’t even a game. If Rakuzan is already this good already, how will we fare in an actual competition?

“Kasayama-san.” It’s Akashi’s voice.

His strange eyes are focused upon me, and I have to steel myself in order to look back at him steadily. Even though I am more comfortable with talking with him now, I’m still not used to that gaze. And I still haven’t quite captured it on paper, no matter how hard or often I try.

“Does the practice suit you?” he asks.

“What do you mean?” I say.

“Well . . . if there is anything to be improved . . .” His eyes bore through me.

I let out a small laugh. “You are the captain, though, Akashi-kun. Everything is already running perfectly. Besides, I’m still a novice to basketball. You should be asking Reiha instead of me.”

“I’ve already spoken with her,” he says. “She’s given me good information. I wanted to hear from you.”

I nearly choke on myself. The coin inside my pocket seems heavy, and I reach inside touch it. Akashi’s eyes follow the movement, and I quickly draw my fingers away. “I think . . . everything is doing well,” I start. “You’ve really managed to pull out everyone’s individual strengths. You can tell they enjoy playing with each other . . . and that they enjoy working hard so that they can reach greater heights. I think that you can help them with that. With reaching greater heights, I mean.”

I blush at my ineloquence. But he doesn’t seem to notice. There is a light in his eyes as he takes in my words. Then he nods, a small and quick movement. Standing up, he holds his hand out to me. I eye it for a second before accepting it.

“I’ve scheduled a practice match for next week,” he explains. “Would you mind making the announcement?”

For a moment, I’m briefly aware that he holds my hand a touch longer than necessary. His hand feels cool and smooth, even though he’s been working just as hard as everyone else.

“Of course I will.”

He smiles, then beckons me to the students waiting.

* * *

Once again, Reiha has left already. I don’t really mind, since having the clubroom to myself is almost peaceful in a way. The place is a bit messy, since it is boys that mostly inhabit it, but between Akashi and me, we manage to keep it fit for use.

I smile as I remember today’s practice. Although I’m used to making announcements in my own club, I’ve never made one before such a large crowd, and I wonder why Akashi chose to let me do it. After I’d told the team about the upcoming practice match, they’d all started chattering — about who the opponents might be, about what challenges they might face, and so on. At that moment, it really felt like a team.

“Kasayama-san.”

His voice is becoming familiar.

“Working late again?”

I turn to face Akashi and nod. He’s showered from practice and is near enough that I can smell the sweet-smelling soap on him. Despite myself, I find myself breathing it in.

“I’ll walk you home,” he says.

This time, I don’t hesitate. “Thank you.” Actually, ever since that night, some part of me . . . has been hoping he’d offer.

I gather up my things, stuffing a few papers into my bag, and Akashi watches me, fingering something in his hand.

“I’m ready,” I tell him a moment later.

He nods and slips whatever he’d been holding into his pocket. He must notice my gaze because he takes it out once again and shows me. “It’s a shōgi piece,” he says. “I found it outside earlier. Do you play?”

“I know the rules,” I say, “but I’ve never mastered any of the strategies.”

He tucks the piece back in his pocket. “That sounds like you.”

I blink at him. “What do you mean?”

“You well acquaint yourself with rules and guidelines, but as for actual usage, you prefer to keep yourself in the dark.”

I blink, and my hand strays to my own pocket. The words almost sound like a criticism, but I know he doesn’t mean them as one. And he’s right.

For a moment, I want to protest. I want to argue, just like I do in my debate club. But he just smiles. “Shall we go, then?”


	8. Reiha

Some of the whispers have lessened, but people still stare at me. Mitsuri and I don’t walk to school anymore (she leaving earlier than I care to) now that I know the way. That’s probably a good thing, since us walking side-by-side and looking exactly alike would be sure to raise more attention.

Of course, anyone with proper eyes should be able to tell the difference between Mitsuri and I. She always tries to diminish herself. I don’t care one bit if people stare.

When I enter class, Ogiwara is already there. He waves a hand at me, and I grimace. I thought I might have driven him off last time, being so forward, but the kid is persistent. And I guess, since we’re part of the same club and all, he feels the need to be friendly. Or something.

The first half of the day passes normally. Boring. Classes. Answering when called on.

But lunch hour decides to change things up.

“Reiha!”

I start at the sound of my name.

It’s him, of course.

“Shige.” I paste on a smile. “You finally called me by my name.”

He flushes for a moment, but then he says, “Well, you insisted.” He lays out a bentō on my desk straddles the seat in front of me backward.

“What are you doing?” I ask blankly.

“Did you bring a lunch?” he asks.

“W-what? No, I forgot.”

Which is rather unfortunate, because Grams makes pretty good meals.

“You can have some of mine,” he offers. “Or would you rather go to the cafeteria? They might have something good today.”

I stare at him. I don’t understand why he’s being so nice to me, especially after I’ve teased him so much. I’ve had a lot of boys interested in me before, but most of the time, it was because they liked that I looked different and could speak another language. Ogiwara, obviously, shouldn’t have that problem. He’s not my usual type, and I doubt I’m his . . . maybe he’s just friendly?

Or maybe there’s something else. If so, I want to find out what it is.

I paste on Mitsuri’s smile and hunch my shoulders, leaning forward. I say, “Okay. What did you bring?”

He’s too busy unwrapping his food to notice the change. “Well, my mom’s a pretty good cook. Have a look. Take all you want.”

“Are you sure? Won’t you go hungry?”

At least, that’s what I think Mitsuri would say.

He finally looks up, a frown on his face. His brow wrinkles when he sees my earnest expression. “You’re doing that again?” He squints at me, like if he looks again, I might go back to normal.

“What are you talking about?”

He sighs. Before he can speak again, someone interrupts — “Oh, oh! What’s this — it looks like fun!”

We both glance up, surprised by the interruption. A girl with an auburn bob bounces into the chair next to me and leans across to Ogiwara, snagging a meatball. I recognize her from class. She was the one who realized who I was, that first day.

“I’m Takeda Shiyo,” she says, like she hadn’t expected us to know her name. Which is good, because all I could remember was that it had something to do with salt.

“Ogiwara Shigehiro,” Ogiwara says, always the polite one. He then gives me a look, prompting me to give me my name as well.

“I know who you all are,” the girl says, rolling her eyes. “We’re in the same class.”

“Why are you here?” I ask bluntly. Ogiwara sighs again. I reach for a part of his bentō as well, and between me and the girl, its contents are steadily depleting.

“Because,” the girl starts with a dramatic flair of her hand, “I want to recruit you.”

She’s staring straight at me.

“What?” I ask.

“You’re an actor, right? I saw the proof the first day you walked in and just now, too. The way you switch is effortless. So, I’m here to recruit you to the theater club.”

“Sorry,” I say, grabbing a mouthful of rice with my chopsticks, “but I’m already with the basketball club.”

“So? Theater club doesn’t have frequent meetings until we have a show, and even then, I’m sure you could talk to Akashi-kun about it. Your team is co-managed, after all, so I’m sure it wouldn’t be a problem if you missed a few practices.”

Well, I can’t say she didn’t come prepared.

“Look,” I begin. “I don’t really want to be a part of another club —”

“Why not?” It’s not the girl who asks this, but Ogiwara. I give him a strange look. He’s not helping at all.

“I just like to keep more . . . focused is all,” I say lamely. 

“Really? You seem like the type who’d like to try as many clubs as you could.”

I glare at him. “And just what are you basing that off of?”

He shrugs. “I think you should give it a chance.”

The girl seems even more energized by Ogiwara’s words. “Yes!” She pumps a fist in the air. “Definitely give us a chance.”

I don’t answer, instead focusing on Ogiwara again. “_You__’re _only in one club.”

“Well, the only other club I’m really interested in is kendō, and I can’t do that with basketball, so . . .”

“Really?” I stretch out the word skeptically. “There’s no other club you’re interested in? Weren’t you the one just telling me I should give this club a chance?”

He colors slightly. Meanwhile, Takeda Shiyo looks like she wishes she had popcorn. “W-well, I —”

“I’ll make you a deal,” I tell him. “I’ll try theater club if you try a second club as well.”

He begins to protest, but closes his mouth once he realizes that, even if he’d come up with a stunning defense, it’d be useless against me. “Fine,” he mutters.

I turn triumphantly to the girl. “And there you have it.”

“Um.” She looks up at me, wide-eyed. “Why do I feel like you’re the winner and not me?”

“Reiha hates to lose,” Ogiwara informs her, something he learned quite well the other night.

I reach for another bite of Ogiwara’s lunch — only to find myself scraping at leftover grains of rice. I suddenly feel horrified. I don’t even remember eating it all. I glance at the girl, and she looks equally guilty.

Ogiwara finally seems to notice his empty bentō. “Oh, it’s fine —”

But I’m already standing up. “I’ll be right back.”

“Uh, o-okay.” There’s a confused look on his face as he watches me leave the classroom.

To my surprise, Takeda Shiyo is by my side when I reach the nearest vending machine. “It just looked so appetizing,” she confesses.

I don’t respond, pumping in a few coins for a drink and a snack bar. I have no idea what he likes, so I grab my favorites out of instinct.

“I’ll get something, too,” she says, punching in an order after me. “By the way, you can call me Shiyo. Since we’ll be clubmates from now on.”

I give her a wry smile. “You seem awfully confident about that.”

“Of course.”

We walk back to the classroom together, Shiyo giving me a full background on the theater club. I find it halfway interesting, but another part of me is surprised about what I have holding in my hands. I don’t usually return favors. I mean, he did offer up his lunch. But for some reason, some part of me thinks that Ogiwara deserves it. So I enter the classroom, clutching the food and drink, and move back to my desk at a brisk pace, Shiyo keeping right up. He’s right where I left him, slowly picking at what’s left of his food and looking somewhat forlorn. There’s a grain of rice stuck on his chin.

I slam the drink down before him. He jumps and stares up at me. Unwrapping the candy bar, I throw it into his bentō box. Shiyo presents her offering as well, though with much more grace.

“Thanks for lunch,” I say.

His eyes widen. He says nothing, but a small smile tilts his lips upward, and he accepts the small gift.

* * *

I find myself back at the street court. Ogiwara’s there again, practicing, and for a few minutes, I don’t announce myself, but simply watch him dribbling back and forth, his forehead creased with concentration.

Then, I make my move.

I dip my hand toward the ball, stealing it from him, and he lets out a gasp of surprise. Grinning, I race away from him and to the hoop. I manage to get in a shot, maybe because he’s still too stunned.

“R-Reiha,” he says. “I didn’t know you were here.”

I shrug, going to pick up the ball. “I felt like playing. Don’t understand why you’re here, though. Don’t you get enough at practice?”

He frowns. “If it’s something you love, why would you ever get tired of it?”

Such a simple statement. I feel stupid for some reason.

“So, I kept wondering,” he says, sending a sideways glance toward me. “You came so abruptly. I mean, to school and everything. No one knew Kasayama-san — your sister — had a twin. What happened?”

“You want to know why I came here,” I clarify.

He nods.

The weight of the necklace against my skin becomes heavy, but I just shrug again and toss the ball up into the air. Once, twice. The third time I throw it too far and it falls to the side, rolling near a bush.

“I was living with my mom,” I say, and I can’t help thinking of that email I’ve yet to reply to. “Our parents divorced when we were eight. Mom and I traveled for a few years before she got remarried, and for the last couple of years, I’ve been living with her and him in America. And this year . . . she wanted me to come back to Japan and go to a normal high school and spend time with Mitsuri. That’s all there is.”

In truth, there’s so much more. But the truth digs itself deeper inside of me, and I refuse to let it out.

He blinks. “Did you — did you like traveling?”

“I loved it. It’s a whole lot better than going to school every day. When you travel, you get to see so many different things and meet so many different people. You get to hear other languages and try new food. . . . America’s good, too. There’s a lot of stuff to do in California. And we take a lot of weekend trips. Here, though, it’s all just the same.”

It’s not that I don’t like Japan. It’s beautiful and has its own strange culture, but I suppose after spending so much time away from it, and enjoying being away from it, I’ve grown to harbor a certain animosity toward the country. Plus, it’s where Mitsuri’s lived her whole life. Mitsuri, quiet and wary, nearly the opposite of who I am.

Mitsuri, who seems to have no problems at all.

“That’s not true.”

“Huh?” I start at Ogiwara’s voice ringing through my thoughts.

“On the appearance . . . things may look all the same here,” he says slowly. “But if you search hard enough, I’m sure you’ll find a reason to like being here.”

I snort. “And what makes you think that?”

He’s giving me a strange look. “Well, aren’t you looking for a reason yourself? Don’t you want a reason to stay, too? You are going to try the theater club, after all.”

My mouth gapes open, and for a moment, I say nothing. It’s such a forward thing to say — so _weird_. So different from Mitsuri. But his face is totally oblivious, his tone completely innocent. He’s serious. (And maybe he’s right.)

I lean over, my hands clutching my stomach, and laugh.

“W-what did I say?” he says, flushing.

“N-nothing, nothing,” I tell him, speaking through giggles. “I just think it’s funny.”

“Funny?” He almost looks offended. “What’s funny?”

“Ah, maybe that’s not quite the right word for it,” I say. “I mean, it is kind of funny. But it’s admirable, too. The way you’re trying. I like that about you.”

“Oh.”

I ignore his blush in the fading light. “What makes you say that anyway?” Being in the same class, I know he’s not dumb, but I also didn’t picture him as the observant type like Akashi.

“Well . . .” He pauses to think. “I think when I first saw you, that first day. That’s what got me thinking. Why did you pretend to be your sister? Was there something you were trying to do?”

They’re all rhetorical questions, so I don’t answer. In reality, though, I don’t know. _Was _I trying to prove something or achieve something by acting like Mitsuri?

“And, well . . .” His blush grows, coloring his ears. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I started watching you after that. And it seemed like you were lost.”

All the humor before is gone now.

_Lost? _Me?

It’s one of the few words that I would never choose to describe myself. True, it’s not like I’ve got my life planned out or anything, and most of the time, I just live day-to-day. But I always never interpreted that as being _lost_, as in not knowing what to do. Instead, I always viewed it as exploring, keeping my options open, and experiencing all the world had to offer.

At least, that’s how I used to think.

But maybe, in these last few months, that word has somehow become applicable to me. And now that I’m in Japan, could it be true that I really have no idea of what to do? So I’m just acting like I used to — all bravado, no substance; all recklessness, no caution? And that, somehow, Ogiwara picked up on it?

Ogiwara is still talking, oblivious to my thoughts. “And so I thought, maybe you weren’t lost. Maybe you’re just searching.”

_Searching. _I like the sound of that better.

He glances at me, a questioning look on his face, probably trying to confirm whether or not he’s on the right track. Unwilling to give him any clues, I point toward the ball which is half-hidden by the bushes. “Are we going to play or not?”


	9. Mitsuri

_Chapter 9 — Mitsuri_

* * *

Everyone knows of Akashi Seijūrō’s wealth. So why he chooses to walk home with me every day when he could easily be picked up by car is a mystery to me. Why would one prefer to go through the heat, the noises of the city, and the wear on your feet when you could enjoy the nice, cool inside of a car?

But while I can’t understand it, Akashi seems to enjoy the short walks. He never complains about it, but each day offers, and each day, I accept. It’s the same brief exchange that ends in the same way: us parting ways with nods and sometimes half-smiles as I board the bus and he heads toward the train station.

The curious nature of the walks doesn’t go amiss. First, my sister seems almost aghast by the fact. When I had first mentioned it, she’d gaped and gawked, and I had expected teasing. However, to my surprise, she has yet to speak of it. Though I can tell that every time she sees me with him, she itches to say something. (Luckily, my grandparents are still in the dark about the walks, and while I’m not necessarily keeping it a secret . . . I don’t feel like I’m ready to tell them yet.)

Then, there are the basketball team members. They are less open about their surprise. If only because they are familiar with Akashi’s whims and have gotten used to not questioning them.

Finally, and perhaps most troublesome, is the rest of the student body. Mostly the girls, that is. Since both Akashi and I stay late after practice, there aren’t usually that many people to see us leave together. Yet, one day, a girl who’s in my class and always seems to have the latest Akashi news saw us leaving the clubroom. Of course, she reported it to everyone, and the next day, rumors were swimming about. (And a few girls decided to track down the bus stop and wait it out. Akashi had to gently refuse their advances while I merely stood there stupefied.)

My year of invisibility is effectively gone — first, Reiha stormed in and broke whatever anonymity I had. Now, everyone’s head turns and I hear my name coupled with Akashi’s.

But to my surprise, I find I don’t mind it. I’d spent so much time worrying about what it would be like to have everyone staring at me, but the attention, while a bit meddlesome, is not wholly unwelcome. After spending my first year trying to do my best to avoid it, the fact that I can walk through the halls . . . and not care . . . is liberating. After all, most people are not talking about me as a person — which, I think, is what would truly bother me — but as an image. If I am merely an image to them, unreal like a mirage, then why should I worry about it?

This must be what Akashi feels like.

Surrounded by whispers, but knowing that they don’t matter.

It’s powerful, in a way.

Is it like that all the time for him?

* * *

“Kasayama-san, do you believe talent determines the worth of someone?”

Murano poses the question, tilting his glasses up his nose as he stares me down. He lays a hand on the table in the center of the clubroom and shifts a few papers to the left, then to the right, back and forth as he waits for my answer.

Blinking at his choice of topic, I say, “No. Natural-given talent versus talent born from hard work doesn’t mean one person is better than the other. Both can be equal. And if one person has neither of those, but still wishes to stand on the ground of the talented . . . what is to stop them?”

“One could say the worth of something is a subjective opinion,” Murano says. “But the talent of something is objective. If you pitted two people against each other in a fight — two _equally worthy _people but with questionable amounts of talent — wouldn’t the one with more talent come out on top?”

“Isn’t that a situational question as well, though?” I challenge. “Talent shows itself in different areas and in different ways. To really determine who is more talented, you’d have to find two people with the same exact talents, and that’s impossible.”

“We are not talking about specifics here, Kasayama-san,” Murano says. “The question was simple enough. Does talent determine worth? If I am smarter than another, does that mean I’m better? If one runner is faster and they win the race, doesn’t that mean they’re better than all the others?”

“You’re only talking about abilities here, though, and I don’t think that’s right. Being _worthy _isn’t only about what a person can do.”

He gives me a wry smile. “Why shouldn’t it be? Aren’t you measured by your works?”

I feel stumped. Of all the first-years, Murano is most definitely the hardest to debate with. His acid words and his quick mind make him ideal for debate — and very hard to compete with. It’s hard for me to remember he’s friends with Ogiwara, who’s near the exact opposite of him.

Murano glances at the clock on the wall. “I do believe we’ve gone past, Kasayama-san. And everyone’s already left, too.”

I wince, looking at the time. “Sorry, we can continue this discussion later if you want.”

“That’s all right. I’ve gotten all the answers I need.”

The way he looks at me, it’s clear that I’ve lost.

Then, a clear voice rings from behind.

“Kasayama-san has the right idea. While works are indeed worthwhile, the emotions behind them are necessary as well.”

Murano and I both spin around to face the newcomer. Somehow, I’d known who it would be: Akashi Seijūrō.

He glances at me momentarily before facing Murano. “Is what you see on the surface all that matters?” he asks. “If your answer is yes, then I would agree with you and say that talent determines worth. But only a fool would say yes, because to only see the surface is to reject the idea of anything that would push the boundaries of imagination. You do not appreciate the people who work hard every day, those who strain to see if they can ever reach a limit — only to find that there is no such thing.

“If people are to set themselves to it, if they really want to stand on equal ground with the talented, they will be able to. Why? Because, under the surface, they have what it needs. They are more than enough for such a _worthy _pursuit.”

I’m fairly certain Murano and I are both gaping. Akashi’s strange passion has seeped through the room, energizing it, changing the very nature of the whole debate.

There is a moment of silence, then Akashi holds out his hand to me. “Kasayama-san. Are you ready?”

I jerk with surprise, still stunned by his speech. “Oh, yes. Just let me —” I grab my bag and stuff today’s notes of the club into it. Standing up, I realize his outstretched hand was not merely a gesture, but an offer.

After a moment’s hesitation, I take his hand, and he leads me out of the room.

* * *

“Aren’t we going to the clubroom?” I ask, frowning as we head past the gym.

“I was thinking you should take a day off,” he says, glancing at me. “You’ve been working hard. And with your own club —”

“Ah, sorry about that,” I say. “I should’ve told Murano-kun no, but he said he wanted to ask me something.”

Akashi waves a hand. “I told you, your debate club should come first. You and Reiha are a great deal of help to us, but I would never want to make you neglect your prior duties.”

I am once again taken aback by his consideration. And the easy way with which he calls Reiha by her first name. I suppose . . . she did ask him to.

“Thank you,” I say. “I’ll try and let you know if I will be running late next time.”

He eyes me for a moment, then nods. “Have you decided on participating on any tournaments yet?”

“I’ve been talking to Watanabe-sensei,” I say, referring to our faculty advisor. “Most of the debates don’t take place until the second trimester, so we still have a few months to decide.”

“It would be a good experience for the club,” he says.

“Yes. It would be.”

(But would it be for me?)

He doesn’t press further, and we continue walking away from the school in a comfortable silence. I suppose that thought should be strange in itself because I have never experienced such an easy atmosphere with someone else before. There has been Reiha, who’s always trying to keep the conversation alive, but our interests rarely overlap, and there are my grandparents, and while I adore them both, there is that simple thing called the generation gap. My debate team is never quiet, seeing as the very nature of our club is to fill the silence with our discussions, but I only ever interact with them in the club. None of us seem to desire spending any more time with each other than that.

But with Akashi . . . although I had seen a streak of awkwardness in him that first night, it seems like we get along better than either of us had anticipated. He allows me to my thoughts, but knows when to speak at the right times. At first, it doesn’t seem like we have that much in common besides the basketball team, and yet our conversations have started to easily flow from one topic to the next as we get to know the other better.

Whatever the reason, being with Akashi is soothing, in a way.

It’s . . . almost like drawing.

When I draw, my mind calms and I’m able to focus my thoughts in any direction I want. When I’m with Akashi, it’s a little different. I’m calm, yes, but my thoughts are a little less focused. Instead, it seems more like my senses have come alive, that my body is more aware of the present moment, the here and now and what opportunities might come out of it.

“Akashi-kun,” I start, breaking the silence. The coin inside my pocket weighs heavy, a silent answer to an unspoken question.

He tilts his head toward me.

“You . . . became student president in your first year, right?”

“Yes,” he says, nodding.

“Did you ever question that decision?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, that’s a lot of pressure, isn’t it? Didn’t you want to, maybe, pursue other things in your first year? Put more time into basketball or with your friends?”

I know Rakuzan encourages students to be in more than one club, something I’m just now experiencing for the first time, but most kids don’t usually become leaders of two prestigious clubs in their first year.

He holds my gaze for a moment before glancing toward a passing car. Finally, he says, “Doesn’t that go for you as well? You made it your mission to revive a club that had been dead for years, causing you to essentially start from the ground up. You even managed to attain a dedicated team of participants, who I’m sure will one day win medals.”

I feel mollified by his words. Although he’d mentioned that he’d asked me to be a manager of the basketball team because of my previous leadership experience, I didn’t know he thought so highly of me. Although I had asked him first, I feel compelled to answer him.

“Well . . . ,” I say. “It’s different for me because I have less obligations. I only had the debate club last year, and that and studying pretty much took up all my free time. Things like friends . . . I wasn’t interested in it, then.”

He has a pensive look on his face, but doesn’t question that last statement. I wonder if, maybe, he felt the same way then . . . and now . . .

“I made my choices when I entered Rakuzan,” he says, now answering my question. “I would divide my time equally between my studies and extracurricular activities. Becoming the school president as well as the captain of the basketball team in my first year changed nothing.”

I don’t think that’s really an answer, but I say nothing.

He continues, “Father expects me to exceed. The Akashi family has always been at the top.”

I frown. “But that doesn’t mean . . .”

I don’t finish, and Akashi doesn’t wait for me to either, because he knows I won’t.

“I was raised to be the best in all areas,” he says. “Room for error is not allowed.”

For a moment, he seems different. Quieter and more introspective than usual. I’ve never heard Akashi speak of his home life before, and now I see why.

To be pushed at from all sides to succeed in everything you do — to always be _perfect _— what kind of strain would that have on a person? It’s unimaginable that someone could even do it without breaking.

Perhaps . . . perhaps he isn’t unbroken.

Perhaps this perfect façade he shows isn’t what is really underneath.

If that is the case, who is Akashi Seijūrō?

“Kasayama-san.” He breaks through my thoughts and I start, realizing we’d stopped walking.

My cheeks flush. “Akashi-kun, I’m sorry for pressing. I —”

“There is no need to apologize. You may ask whatever you need to.” His eyes glitter in the darkening sunlight. “I, for one, also have a question.”

“Oh, really? What is it?”

“You carry around a notebook, don’t you? You draw. I’ve seen you outside eating lunch and you bring the notebook with you.”

“Yes, that’s right,” I say, surprised that he’d noticed.

“Is it a hobby or . . . ?”

I think for a moment. “It’s . . . kind of like a hobby, yes. I’m not good enough to do it professionally, and I wouldn’t want to, anyway. It’s mostly a personal interest for me. I like to do it to tell stories and to bring things to life.”

He nods, almost like he’d expected that response. “If you would ever feel like sharing,” he says, “I would like to see.”

It takes me several moments to process what he’s saying.

See? My drawings?

Then, I let out a small gasp, and say, “O-of course I don’t mind!” The answer comes out readily — and I realize the words are true. In the past, I’d used to show my drawings to my grandparents or teachers or classmates, and while they admired and complimented them, they’d always made suggestions. _Why don’t you try this? What do you think would happen if you added this color? _It’s not that I didn’t want to get better . . . but I hated the thought of their opinions changing the way I drew, the way I approached art. And so, I stopped. But for some reason . . . I don’t mind the idea of Akashi looking at them. Because, somehow, I know he won’t judge. I reach into my bag, my fingers trembling, and take out the notebook.

“Here,” I say, holding it out to him.

“Thank you,” he says.

He flips open the first page, and I shift nervously beside him, trying to remember if I’d drawn anything embarrassing inside.

The muttering sound of pages. A cool evening breeze. Akashi reaches the middle of the book, as far as I’d filled, and that’s when I realize what I’d drawn there.

“This is . . .” He pauses.

I nod. “Those are your eyes.”

I should be feeling embarrassed, but for some reason, I don’t. Maybe because it’s him and being around him changes something about me. But instead of feeling self-conscious of being caught having drawn his eyes, I feel . . . exhilarated.

I’d finally perfected them. I’d managed to get the slant exactly right, the arc of his eyebrows, and I’d even colored them in. I’d played with different colors for fun, blue and green and gold. The last color was my favorite, and next to his original red, I thought it looked especially striking.

As Akashi stares at the drawings of his eyes, he doesn’t say a word. Then, finally, he closes the notebook softly and hands it back to me. “Thank you,” he says. “You’re an excellent drawer.”

Normally, when I hear such compliments, I just assume that they are saying that out of politeness’ sake. But with Akashi . . . I can tell he means it. If anything, he is sincere. And that’s what I appreciate most about him.

“Thank you,” I whisper, taking the notebook back from him and tucking it into my bag.

We continue walking back to the bus stop, easing back into that comfortable silence. Even after our short conversation — about his family pressures, about my drawings — nothing much has seemed to change between us. We both know each other a bit more now, but we can still harness that relaxed feeling in the air. It is feeling I’m starting to recognize, a feeling I’m beginning to be familiar with, and a feeling that I’m starting to enjoy.


	10. Reiha

“Reiha!”

For one who seemed so averse to calling me that at first, he now seems to have no qualms about it.

“Yo, Shige,” I say, holding up a hand.

His grin is as wide as ever as he bounds up toward me. “So, we’re having a practice match tomorrow, yeah?”

“Mmmm.”

“Aren’t you excited?”

I make a face. “I would be, if I was actually playing.”

“Oh. I see.” He’s still grinning, even at my displeasure of having to _watch _the practice match instead of participating in it.

“What’s up, Shige?” I ask him, making my way to the classroom. He trails after me, and being a good seven inches taller than me (thank you, basketball records), he can see over the crowd of students. He waves to his many friends, shouting morning greetings as we pass through the halls. While I’m not particularly short, I was neither blessed with height, so I have to content myself with being eye-level with his neckline. My heart skips a beat.

“Do you want to practice tonight?” he asks, finally turning back to me.

“No.”

“C’mon, why not?”

“Well, I don’t believe our particular set of talents are suited for each other, so even if we did, it wouldn’t be very beneficial.” I try channeling Akashi, but give up. He’s way too hard a person to imitate. “Also, the last few times we’ve practiced I’ve been creamed into the ground, so I don’t really want to go through that experience again.”

He scrunches up his face, and I think he’s trying not to laugh. “You’re getting better. And if you really want to play with the team, you’re going to have to keep practicing. Plus, you’ll face a lot worse opponents than me. Like, Akashi, for example.”

I wince at that.

“So, what do you say? Are you free after school?”

“After school? You want to go practice right after . . . well, practice?”

“Sure. Why not? I’ll be tired. You’ll be fresh. Won’t that tip the odds in your favor?”

I stare at him. Then I begin to laugh. His enthusiasm is contagious. “Okay, sure, you got me. I’ll see you then.”

He pumps a fist in the air. “Awesome.”

* * *

Basketball practice continues like normal. I’ve gotten used to being the manager and I think the players have gotten used to me. When I enter the gym, they always wave hello to me. And even though you can’t really say I’m friends with any of them, I’m on good terms with them. That in itself is an achievement.

I never thought a manager position would suit me. But it’s surprisingly fun in its own way. Even though some of the stats and organizing stuff drives me crazy, I like watching the players and trying to figure out how they fit with one other and what sort of things might bring out their potential. I like it when one of them calls on me, asking for something, even if it’s trivial like a band-aid because they scraped their knee or a towel because they’re dripping sweat.

Before, being sent on stupid errands like this would’ve irritated me. Before, this steady routine of school, basketball, dinner, free time, repeat would’ve driven me up a wall. So, what changed? Was my mom right in thinking I needed this?

Maybe I’ll find the answer to that tonight, when I meet with Ogiwara.

For some reason, when I’m with him, he always seems to bring out a strange side of me. It’s odd, really . . . but not entirely unwelcome.

After practice, the team goes to the lockers to change, and I wait for Mitsuri to appear so I can tell her that I’ll be home late. I don’t know how long Ogiwara plans to practice with me, but the last few times we played together, it ended up longer than I’d expected.

“Hey, sis,” I say when I see her, making her way through the gym and toward me.

“Hi, Reiha,” she says. “Good day?”

It still feels weird between us sometimes — like our relationship is more business-like than family-like — but I’ve grown accustomed to the older Mitsuri and her ways, and I think she’s grown comfortable around me, too.

“Mm, yeah. So, I’m probably not going to make it for dinner, ’kay? Don’t wait up for me.”

She frowns for a moment, but she doesn’t pry, thankfully.

I steal out of the gymnasium to wait for Ogiwara. We hadn’t really discussed where to meet, and I don’t even know how long he’ll take to get ready, but I suppose this place is as good as ever. He’ll find me.

A few minutes later, just like I’d predicted, he tumbles out of the gym. He hadn’t bothered taking a shower since he’s just going to be practicing more anyway, and I can smell the sweat on him as he approaches me.

“Reiha,” he says. “You actually waited for me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, I thought you might ditch me and leave.”

I give him a haughty look and say nothing. He laughs and begins to lead the way to the street court. I wrinkle my nose and make sure to walk several feet away from him.

“You know,” I say after a few minutes of walking, “we probably could’ve just used the court at Rakuzan. If we asked Akashi —”

“That’s no fun, though,” Ogiwara says.

“Huh?”

“I mean, it’s a nicer court, sure. And we’d have pretty much endless balls and whatnot. But I like the outdoor courts. You have the wind on you to cool you down and being outside just makes you feel so much more alive, right?”

I stare at him. He seems totally oblivious to what he just said, and for some reason, that makes me smile.

“I guess . . . I’m more familiar with street courts, too. They’re nice.”

He grins. “Right?”

* * *

After an hour of fervent practice, we decide to take a break. There’s a vending machine nearby, and so we take a short detour toward it.

The cold water feels good against my throat and I gulp it down. Once I’m finished, I crumple the bottle and throw it into the nearby trash.

Ogiwara watches me, an amused expression on his face. Finally, he says, “Have you found anything yet?”

“Huh?”

“For your search.”

“My what?”

He rolls his eyes. “You know, a reason to stay in Japan. A reason why being here is great and all.”

“I think you got it wrong, Shige, I’m not actually —”

“No, I think _you’ve _got it wrong,” he says. “You tried out the basketball team, didn’t you? You practiced with me here. You agreed to visit the drama club, and you even went and bought me something for my lunch. Those aren’t things you normally do, are they?”

I pause. No, they’re not. What’s his point?

“Japan’s different than what you’re used to,” he says. “Maybe you’re trying to adapt to it, too, and that’s why you’re doing these things. Because you know you’re different, and you want to fit in.”

I feel like I’ve been slapped.

I keep thinking he’s an airhead, but once again, he’s displayed surprising perceptiveness. I mean, sure, sometimes he said weird, straightforward things. But . . . this? I underestimated him. And now he . . . is somehow able to see something that even I was trying to deny.

“But you know,” he continues, “being different isn’t a bad thing. I like the way you are. I like you. So, you know, if you want help . . . with finding a reason to stay, I can help. I’ll help you.”

His face has reddened at these words, and it takes my brain a few moments to catch up.

Did he . . . just confess to me?

In a roundabout way, I think he did.

My own face turns red.

I’ve had people confess to me. But it’s never been like this. It’s always been more . . . typical. A kiss to express their feelings or a burst of words that they couldn’t hold in anymore.

It has never been so honest or innocent.

I’m not quite sure what to make of it.

My voice cracks when I speak. “You . . . what are you trying to say?”

His eyes are bright, his face still pink. “I — I like you, so I — I want to help you.”

Yes, definitely a confession. But still a weird one.

“You don’t even know me.”

His face clears. “That’s right. I don’t. But I want to. If you’ll let me.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you like me?”

“Oh, that.” I’m slightly put off by the way he says it, like he’s thought about it so many times that it’s become an ordinary idea to him by now. “That’s easy to answer. It’s because you never back down from anything. You’re always facing things straight on. And you love it. You love to take risks and challenges. And when you really get into something, you put your all into it, no matter what happens. I doubt you’d ever be the person to break a promise. Would you?”

I lick my lips. It’s a rhetorical question. I don’t answer.

“Reiha?” His eyes are questioning, a little insecure. He’s put himself forth before me tonight and now he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what to expect from me.

“Okay,” I say. “I’ll accept your help. But, just so you know, I don’t have any feelings for you right now. I don’t know if I will either. You’re not really my type, so . . .”

He looks relieved. “I understand. Just the fact that you’re giving me a chance is good enough.”

I eye him carefully, slowly, in a new light.

I didn’t really think he’d confess to me. Not now, not like this. But like always, he surprised me. And now that I’ve told him that I’d give him a chance . . . what on earth do I do?

* * *

That night, I curl up in my bed and finger the necklace Mom’d given me. The cherry blossom season is over now, that scenic route on the way to school now dull in comparison to its earlier form. But the sakura on my necklace doesn’t remind me of Japan. Instead, it reminds me of much more painful things, things I’d rather not remember.

Was this Mom’s intention? To give me something that connected both to my old life and my present one? Maybe she was just trying to get me to reconcile two different homes, two different families . . . but, instead, it almost feels like this necklace is a bad omen. That, instead of promising new beginnings, it only symbolizes the end . . . that flash of beauty, right before everything falls.

I don’t want to go through that again.

But I don’t want to keep running away either.

Ogiwara’s words echo through my head on repeat.

What I wouldn’t give to live through life the way he does. But instead, all I can do is close my eyes and wish the morning would never come. Because when it does, I’ll have to smile again.


	11. Mitsuri

Although I am close with both of my grandparents, I feel a stronger connection with my grandfather. Perhaps it’s the gruff way he talks, always shuffling from one room to the next, making a shrewd observation, then moving on. Perhaps it’s how he and I both share the strange compulsion to set things in order. Perhaps it’s because he likes to rile me up even when I’d rather not be bothered . . . but in the end, somehow manages to pull out a smile in me.

“Hey, Mitsuri-chan,” he says, one day after school. He knocks lightly on my door as an afterthought.

I look up from my sketchbook and nod at him to come in.

“How’s school been going?” he says. “I feel like I never see you anymore.”

“We still have dinner every night,” I point out.

Even though there is an appointed “family dinner night,” most of the time Grandma, Grandpa, and I will at least spend dinner together, even if Reiha does not join us. The meals aren’t always elaborate, sometimes just leftovers, and lots of times, I suppose we don’t really talk. But I still am spending time with him, even if I am a bit busier than usual.

He gives a one-shouldered shrug. “I guess there’s that. But you’ve been pretty absorbed in school lately, haven’t you? You joined the basketball club or something?”

“I’ve mentioned it several times,” I say, smiling because I know he knows. “Reiha and I co-manage it.”

“Ah. That so. Is it fun?”

I pause for a moment to reflect over the last few weeks. My fingers drift to the coin in my pocket — unbidden, an image of Akashi’s face floats in my mind’s eye, along with the shōgi piece he’d been playing with. “Yes. It is fun.”

Grandpa grins. “That’s good. Your age . . . you guys just need to get out and do stuff you enjoy, you know?”

I blink a few times. Grandpa has given me advice before, but it’s rare. He was the one to suggest I start the debate club, something that I was wary of at first, but came to thoroughly enjoy. Usually, though, he just likes verbal play and cheering me up with stories of his childhood. When he gives me life advice, it usually means he’s been feeling especially introspective of late. Observing those around him and coming to conclusions, which are often surprisingly accurate.

He continues. “Your sister seemed a little homesick today, but otherwise, you and her seem to be getting along well, so that’s great. Great that you’re doing this basketball thing and all, too, I mean. Me and your grandma were worried a bit at first.”

I grimace at that, but wait for him to finish.

“I know it seems like life is hard,” he says. “Like no matter what you do, it’ll just turn around and reject you. But you’d be surprised what would happen if you just give it a try.”

His words resonate within me. They’re similar to what he said when he first encouraged me to try debate, something I’d thought was way out of my comfort zone. I was hesitant, of course, but I found I really enjoyed it. And now, now that I’m the leader of debate and the manager of the basketball team, things I never would’ve tried a few years ago . . . I realize that he’s right. Things that seem daunting at first sometimes manage to be worth it.

I’d spent so long stuck in my little bubble because I was afraid. Afraid that the world would reject who I was. It was easier, I thought, to stay in my routine, where I was always sure of my actions. But . . . that’s not always true. Sometimes, you have to meet other people to figure out who you really are.

“And it’s great to see you smiling more,” Grandpa continues. “Even at dinner, with Reiha-chan, you seem to be more animated.”

That catches me by surprise. “What? Really?”

He cocks his head. “You haven’t noticed?” He fidgets and straightens the collar of his shirt. “You seem happier of late. It makes me happy, to see you happy.” He leans forward with a smirk on his face. “Is it a boy?”

Heat floods my cheeks. “What?”

“Aha, gotcha!” He lets out a full laugh.

He thinks he’s just teasing, but he doesn’t realize how close he came to guessing . . . that, maybe, it is because of a boy.

The idea makes me uneasy, and I almost want to ask him about it. Ask him if it’s okay to have this kind of relationship with Akashi. If I should expect more, or if I should be content. The thing is, whatever it is I have with Akashi seems too good to be true. I’ve never been in love before; I’ve never even really talked with boys unless required. And yet the way I feel with Akashi . . . makes me happy. Makes me _want _to be in love.

For nearly all my life, I’ve gambled when it came to unfamiliar things. Whenever there was a branch in the path, directing away from my familiar routine, I’d rely on chance to choose which way to go. That way, if it ended up being the wrong path . . . it wouldn’t feel like my mistake. But love . . . is not something I want to gamble on, not something I want to mess up.

Grandpa’s voice jerks me out of my thoughts.

“— and it made me realize I miss you.” He lets out a small laugh. “Even though you did point out that I see you every night. But the fact that you and your sister are both growing up, and soon you’ll be going away . . .”

He trails off, and I swallow, pushing down my selfish thoughts. “Grandpa —”

Waving a hand, he says, “Oh, don’t worry about me. I’m just being a sentimental old man. Don’t you have homework to finish?”

I do, but . . .

“Do you want to do something tonight?” I ask. “We could watch a movie or something. I’m sure Reiha’s free —”

He snorts. “Are you kidding me? That girl goes out about every night carrying that basketball thing with her. And haven’t you noticed?”

“Noticed what?” I say. Although I am more similar to Grandpa than anyone I know, he has always been the more observant one.

“She seems a lot happier when she comes back, too.”

I blink and try to recall the last few times Reiha’s returned late. Maybe he’s right. As prickly as she was when she first arrived, she’s much more open with me now . . . we’ll do homework together every few nights, and she’s started telling me stories about her time abroad.

“By the way,” Grandpa says, “have you talked with your parents lately?”

The image I’d had of Reiha in my head pops like a bubble. “W-what?” I stutter. Sometimes, we’ll talk about Mom with Reiha at the dinner table, but it’s rare for Grandpa to refer to both of our parents . . . as if they’re still one unit. After taking a moment to regather my thoughts, I say, “I’ve emailed Mom recently. She wanted to know how Reiha had been doing. But Dad . . .”

I don’t talk much to Dad at all. I don’t think Reiha does either. I mentioned him offhandedly to her once, and she’d started scowling so hard I’d quickly changed the subject. I haven’t brought him up since.

Mom is our grandparents’ only daughter, and our father is the one who stole her heart. And although Mom was the one who first filed the divorce papers, my grandparents still lay the blame on him. So it’s not surprising at all that my grandparents dislike talking about him.

Even now, Grandpa looks like he might be constipated at the mention of Dad. “I’m sure you know my thoughts on him,” he says roughly, “but he is your father. I know you still have his contact information. Maybe you and Reiha should visit him sometime.”

My face softens. That’s Grandpa for you, just looking out for us. “Okay,” I say. “I’ll talk to her about it.”

* * *

The day starts with rain.

Like usual, Reiha is still asleep when I wake up (has she been sleeping in even later lately?). I suppose it’s lucky for me, because we don’t have to fight over the bathroom to get ready. After I quickly take my shower and throw on my uniform, I head to the kitchen to find that Grandma has already set out some breakfast for me.

“It’s pouring hard,” she says, glancing out the window. “Don’t forget the umbrella, okay?” She nods toward the array of umbrellas we have standing up near the door. Briefly, I wonder that since I am like Grandpa, then is my mom similar to Grandma? Did she always make sure Reiha had an umbrella when it was rainy out, wherever they were? Well, knowing Reiha, she would just run out into the downpour without a care in the world. And from the stories of my mom’s childhood, she was just as wild as Reiha.

“Don’t worry,” I say. “In weather like this, I think it would be impossible to forget.”

A few minutes later, I grab a pink umbrella and head out. Even with the umbrella, though, the rain immediately begins sloshing in at my legs, drenching my shoes and socks. Puddles have formed along the streets, and I try to avoid them as best I can, but even on the sidewalk, it’s hard.

The walk to school isn’t too long, thankfully. Usually, I take it slow, since I wake up so early. But today, I move as quickly as I can. I see no one else for the first few minutes, until —

A dark shape standing next to a stop sign.

No umbrella.

The rain drenches him, his hair sticking to his slightly upturned forehead.

I breathe out. There is little to no light, dark clouds overwhelming the sky — then, a flash of lightning, illuminating the face that I was already certain of.

Akashi opens his eyes and glances toward me.

He has no bag with him. It’s like the universe decided to just drop him into this spot, into this thunderstorm. My mind immediately begins to memorize the image — the details of his school uniform, the drops of the rain clinging to his skin, the slant of his face.

He says, “Kasayama Mitsuri.” He has a distant, almost glazed look on his face.

For a moment, I’m taken aback by the use of my full name. Then I smile and say, “Akashi Seijūrō.”

He takes a step toward me, returning my smile, but it seems more strained than usual. The raindrops slide down his uniform, and he must be freezing, but like always, he seems perfectly in control.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, a million more questions winding in my mind. I think of just last night, when Grandpa teased me about a “boy,” not knowing that that boy walks me home every night . . .

“I asked my chauffeur to drop me off here.” He says it like it’s a perfectly normal thing to do, but I hear something in his voice that gives me pause, like an off-key note.

“Are you okay?” I ask, taking another step toward him.

He blinks at me, his eyes clearing, and I zone in on his wet eyelashes. Snapshot. “I enjoy the rain,” he says after a moment. “It’s . . . calming to me.”

It takes me a moment to comprehend his words. Not because they’re strange — I know many people like the rain. But the fact that Akashi is one of them, even to the point of stepping out of his car and drowning himself in the deluge, is a surprise to me.

But after a moment, it doesn’t seem so strange.

There are many things about Akashi that surprise me, but the more I learn about him, the more I begin to understand him. Perhaps it’s arrogant of me to say that — perhaps it’s more accurate to say that I’m beginning to understand the way he views himself. Because, after all, if there is one thing I’ve learned about Akashi it’s this: there is Akashi Seijūrō, and then there is the Akashi Seijūrō that the former self has created, a person he can view objectively and control.

I don’t know which one likes the rain. The Akashi that is or the Akashi that appears to be, or maybe even both. But the more I think about it, the more it fits him.

The quiet pitter-patter sound of it. The cleaning pureness. The flash of light every few seconds. And then, the thunder that rolls in, loud and sometimes scary, but then somehow comforting in its promise.

I tuck this view of Akashi inside my head, where I’ve cataloged all my other images of him. It’s a growing collection . . . and I’m excited to fill it even more.

“You never walk to school in the mornings, do you?” I say to him.

He shakes his head and wipes strands of red hair from his eyes.

“Do you know the way?”

“Well, I’ve studied the maps —”

I let out a laugh. “If you’re going to walk to school, you might as well take the scenic route, right? They won’t show you that on a map.”

He frowns in confusion. I close the distance between us, holding the umbrella over him, and tap his arm. “It’s this way,” I say.

“Kasayama-san —”

I wait a moment for him to finish, but he doesn’t, and so I begin walking, and after a moment, he follows me.

The cherry blossoms aren’t blooming anymore, but the trees are still beautiful, even without the delicate pink petals. As Akashi and I walk, the rain slows to a drizzle. I let down the umbrella and swing it by my side.

“You’re going to be wet for classes,” he says.

“This way,” I say, “we’ll both stand out together.”

He blinks. “You didn’t . . .”

“I like the rain, too,” I inform him. “Maybe not enough to get drenched and give up a warm car, but I like the feel of it against my skin. I like the feel of the air after it ends, cool and moist. I like the rainbows it creates. Rain is hard to draw, but it’s fulfilling — every drop the same, but different, too.”

He doesn’t respond to my statement, but I know he’s heard it, acknowledges it, and has even accepted it in his own way. And so we walk to school together, the two of us, both dripping wet.


	12. Reiha

Although Ogiwara’s confession seemed bold in the moment, right now, in class, he can barely look me in the eye. Every time his gaze turns toward me, his cheeks flare bright red and he whips his head around again.

It’s quite funny, really.

As for me, I don’t really know how I’m supposed to feel. I mean, I’ve dated before. Sort of. But there was never a confession like you see in the movies. The ones that always seemed smoother, natural, like by putting it into words, both sides could finally realize their feelings. And the last relationship I had . . . well, that didn’t go too well, obviously.

I’d foolishly told him I’d give him a chance. But I don’t think I’d ever want the same kind of relationship that he does.

I like Ogiwara. I like our friendship, the way we’ve positioned ourselves around each other. I don’t want to lose our current relationship by trying to act on feelings we’re not sure of. Which is strange because I never would’ve thought this way in America. There, I don’t think I had any sort of relationship with a boy that wasn’t based on some sort of _feeling _. . . that we often acted on.

Ogiwara, on the other hand, seems all too innocent. I would bet that that was his first confession and that he’s never dated anyone, let alone kissed. I’m worried that someday that naive thinking of his will get him into trouble. And the last person who needs to teach him that is me.

So, for right now, I decide to just let things be. I’d told him that I didn’t know if I liked him or would ever, so he shouldn’t be expecting anything from me. I just hope his confession doesn’t ruin whatever we have.

Because even if I’m not in love with him, I do like being with him.

And that is a fact that is much easier to admit in the daylight.

* * *

“Reihaaa!” Shiyo collapses in the desk seat near mine at lunch. She splays her hands over the desktop and releases a huge sigh.

“What’s wrong?” I ask her. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Ogiwara glance at me, blush, then leave the classroom in a more hurried pace than usual.

“You’re coming to drama tomorrow, right?” She has a pleading look in her eyes.

“I said I would,” I remind her. I’d talked to Akashi about it, and he readily agreed. We have the practice match later today, but I’m free tomorrow.

“Oh, good.” She releases another huff of air. “We need someone like you in the club.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we’d planned to hold auditions tomorrow, but we can’t decide on what the play should actually be.”

I frown. “Shouldn’t that be a priority?”

“I know, right! Well, our new club head . . . let’s just say, he’s a little difficult. We need him to approve our ideas, but he hasn’t, saying all of them are unoriginal or boring.” She waves an irritated hand. “Nothing’s good enough for him, which is why we’re behind schedule. Our last few meetings have just been us discussing what to put on this year. It’s almost like we’re the debate club.”

I hope not. “So is tomorrow another discussion?” I ask.

“Looks like it,” she says glumly. “We’ve scouted several people beside you, but they’re not going to want to join if all they see is us arguing.”

“We’ll just decide tomorrow, then,” I say. “Why not have the hopefuls choose a play? Might give you some fresh choices.”

“That’s a great idea!” Shiyo cries, pointing her finger at me. “See, this is exactly why we need someone like you. _Please_ tell me you’ll join.” She clasps her hands in front of her and bends her head into the desk in a sort of half-bow.

“No promises, remember? I’m only going to observe tomorrow.”

She releases a sigh yet again. “Yeah, I know. I just think it’d be really fun with you there.”

For a moment, I’m admonished. I’ve never had someone say that to me. Between Ogiwara and Shiyo, I’m experiencing a whole host of things.

_That_ _’s the point. _

_This is what Ogiwara_ _’s trying to get me to see, isn’t it? _

* * *

“Practice match day!” Hayama bounds into the gym, arms wide open like he wants to hug everyone.

Although we do regular mock matches, it’s usually only between team members — today, everyone’s excited to play someone new, a whole different style than Rakuzan.

The team, from Sagano High, has yet to arrive. Akashi runs our own players through a series of drills while we wait. The team is really shaping up, I think. Mitsuri, too, notices the difference, a wide smile on her face as she watches the players — well, mostly Akashi.

I know she has a crush even if she doesn’t, but neither of us have ever seriously talked about our love lives before, not even when we were kids. Besides, my current love life is . . . complicated.

Mitsuri blushes slightly when Akashi jogs over to us, a sheen of sweat already on his forehead. Most boys seem all gross when they’re sweaty, but Akashi is, of course, exempt to that. He and the other regulars are wearing their Rakuzan basketball uniforms, light blue and white, to show the school colors during the practice match. The colors look good on him, and even though my only feelings toward Akashi are respect, I still can’t deny that he looks . . . well, hot.

I’m sure Mitsuri notices as well.

He tips his head toward me as Mitsuri hands him his jacket, which he slips on to keep his body warm until Sagano show up. He and Mitsuri exchange a few cordial greetings that I quickly tune out, turning my attention back to the team.

Ogiwara immediately catches my eye. He pauses, bends to catch his breath, then starts running again, quickly passing a few first-years. He makes a few laps around the court, then stops to scoop up a ball, fluidly dribbling then shooting. The ball hits the edge of the hoop — totters, then falls outside of the basket. A few players let out shouts of encouragement, and Ogiwara just smiles.

He looks comfortable, I think. He’s always been easy-going, and I even thought he enjoyed being around me, too. And it’s not that he doesn’t, but I’ve realized, since he confessed last night, that when it’s the two of us, there’s always a sort of nervous energy in the air. Is it because of his feelings?

Ogiwara glances up and our gazes meet. For the first time today, his cheeks don’t redden — instead, mine do.

I turn my attention back to Akashi and Mitsuri. _I really shouldn__’t be judging her, I guess. _

“They should be here soon,” Mitsuri says, glancing at the clock on the wall, and on cue, I hear the pounding of footsteps, announcing the group’s arrival.

Sagano High is a well-known school, their basketball program above average, but never making it past the preliminaries. Apparently, they’ve had practice matches with Rakuzan before, and even though they’ve always been beaten, our two schools seem to share a positive rapport.

The coach of the team greets ours (though, honestly, he should be talking to Akashi) and makes small talk while his players get ready. A few minutes later, and the two teams line up in the middle of the court. On the right, the Rakuzan regulars: Akashi, Mibuchi, Hayama, Nebuya, and Ogiwara. On the left, Sagano: Minagawa, the captain and power forward, and the rest of his team, whose names escape me. Mitsuri holds the file with all the information on Sagano, but I don’t bother to look. I’m just going to forget them again.

As expected, Rakuzan grabs the tip-off first. Despite his size, Nebuya easily dodges the Sagano players and makes it to the net in just a few seconds, scoring a dunk. Minagawa grabs the ball, but he’s quickly stopped by Hayama and Mibuchi.

The game continues in a similar manner: Sagano tries hard, and I admire their tenacity, but they’re blocked by Rakuzan at nearly every corner. It doesn’t help that aside from Minagawa, most of their team is made up of first- and second-years. Rakuzan has three seasoned third-years, and then Akashi and Ogiwara, the second-years. Arguably, you could say Akashi is worth a team by himself. On the other hand, you could say that Ogiwara is the least powerful in terms of raw talent, but he easily makes up for it with his hard work and flexibility.

We win, 81-20.

* * *

The next day, I follow Shiyo from the class to the drama club room. She chatters excitedly, and by the time we reach the room, I almost feel like I know everything there is to know about theater.

The clubroom is located next to the auditorium, with a door leading to backstage. The room has lockers on one side, racks of clothing on the other, and a mishmash of tables, chairs, and bean bags in the center. There is a variety of kids already present: some organizing the costumes, some slouching in bean bags, some giving an improv performance.

The place feels hectic, chaotic, a rumble of sounds and colors.

I have to admit that it’s kind of appealing.

“You never get bored in here,” Shiyo says, and she leads me over to the costume rack. “Hi, Emi. See, here, Reiha, all these clothes are handmade by Emi here.”

“Wow, really?”

I admire the dozens of outfits, ranging from traditional kimono, to black leather jackets and ripped jeans, to flowing fantasy gowns and elegant suits.

I’ve never been a craft person, due to low patience, but I’ve always admired the dedication it takes. It’s almost hard for me to believe that one person can do all this.

“They look great,” I tell Emi, and she beams.

Shiyo continues to show me around the room, introducing me as we go. Most of the kids seem friendly, which isn’t a surprise, as this is a drama club.

Around the time the club’s due to start, the door to the backstage opens, and a scruffy guy with curly hair tumbles in, nearly tripping over a bean bag someone’d thrown by the door. He kicks it away, irritated. “Hey, guys, what did I tell you about blocking the doors?”

Nearly everyone looks guilty.

“This is Kikuchi, our club president,” Shiyo informs me. She gives me a look, like, _This is the guy I was telling you about. _

Kikuchi claps his hands together. “All right, people. Let’s get started.” He glances at me. “As you know, we have a few guests with us today, so let’s give them a warm welcome!”

At least he doesn’t make us introduce ourselves. Yet.

He claps his hands together again. “Okay, so as you know, we were supposed to hold auditions today, but got off track.” He shoots a look around the group, like they’re at fault. “So I’ve decided to enlist the help of our guests today to finalize a theme for our play.”

Just the theme?

“Okay, so it looks like we have three hopefuls today. How about you guys start by giving us some ideas of what you’d like us to perform this year?”

One of the new kids immediately raises his hand and says, “Mecha.”

“Rejected,” Kikuchi says. “Even our wonderful Emi can’t make those kinds of suits. Next.”

“Sports!”

Kikuchi snorts. “If our audience wants to watch a sport, they can just go see a game. Next.”

All eyes fall on me. I hesitate. “Why not just go for something classic that everyone loves? Like . . . a fairytale.”

“Definitely not,” Kikuchi says, and I feel heat rise to my cheeks. “Everyone does those.”

“It’s _because _everyone does them,” I say, unable to handle his attitude any longer. “People love them, no matter how much they’re done. And isn’t making an old idea fresh a bigger challenge than trying to tackle some unknown story?”

There’s a moment of silence as everyone ponders this idea.

Finally, Shiyo speaks up. “Sounds good to me. What do you say, guys?”

People begin nodding their head in agreement, seeming to be much more in sync with Shiyo than Kikuchi. (I wonder why she isn’t the head of the club? She’s definitely more likable.)

“But —” Kikuchi begins, but Shiyo cuts him off.

“C’mon, Senpai. Let’s just go with this. We’ve spent a long enough time debating.”

He relents, finally seeing there’s no point in arguing anymore. “Fine. So fairy tales are our theme? Which one?”

“How about Cinderella?” I say. “It’s about as classic as you can get.”

Heads bob around the room. Kikuchi sighs, then claps his hands together once more. “Well, then, that’s decided.”

The room falls into immediate and excited discussion — what will the costumes look like? Should we do the musical version? Who should play the leads?

“You should play Cinderella!” Shiyo says, raising her voice to be heard over the clamor.

“No way. I’m new — and I haven’t even joined yet. There’s no way I’d be able to do that. I’ve never even taken an acting class before.”

“Well, you look the part.” Shiyo eyes me critically, then grins. “You’re a little bold for Cinderella, but that’s the point of acting, after all — to be someone you’re not!”

She’s right. I’ve always been attracted to acting because of that very idea.

“Well,” I say, hesitating.

“It’s perfect!” she exclaims. Then she whips around, worms her way through a few people, then returns with a paper in her hand. “This is the club application. I’ve already filled out most of the information.”

“You really thought I’d join?” I take the form from her, frowning slightly at the empty white boxes waiting for my signature.

She shrugs. “I like being prepared.”

I smile. “Fine. I guess I’ll give it a shot.”

Then I sign my name.


	13. Mitsuri

“You joined theater?” I can’t keep the surprise from my voice. I’ve known Reiha has a proclivity for dramatics, but I never expected her to join the drama club. Plus, the fact that she’s entered my room to tell me — it’s clear she’s more comfortable now, but I also wonder if the two of us are getting closer again. The thought makes me happier than I thought it would.

“Yeah.” She runs a hand through her hair, looking slightly embarrassed. “The auditions are soon.”

“What play is it?”

“Cinderella.” She walks farther into my room and plops onto my bed.

“Ohh. That’s cool.”

“We’re going to do the musicless version,” she says.

“That’s a shame,” I say. “I would’ve liked to hear you sing.”

“Oh, I’m no good at that.”

I smile. “Well, I’m excited to see it. Are you going to try to audition for a main part?”

“Y-yeah . . . That’s why I’m here, actually. I was wondering if you’d help me run some lines.”

I blink. Then, “Yeah, of course! I’d love to help you.”

She gives me a grateful smile, one of the few real ones I’ve seen since she’s come here.

“Um . . . here’s the audition script.” She hands out a sheaf of paper. “I made an extra copy, too.”

“Thanks.” I flip through the script, which only includes a few of the main scenes from the play. “Which part do you want to do?”

“Um, let’s try —” She rambles off a scene number, and I flip to the according page.

I’ve never seen her nervous before. I know that she’ll sometime try to imitate me, and I once caught her alone in the clubroom pretending to be Akashi (a hilarious interpretation I’ll never tell him about), so why is she getting anxious now?

“You start,” she says.

“Oh, I’m the prince?”

“Yeah.” She smiles, a little bit of her confidence seeping back in. “You better charm me, sis.”

“Got it.” I can’t keep a smile of my own from forming as I read the words written on the page. Just a few weeks ago, we’d never be doing something like this. But now, it feels almost normal.

I finish my line and look up to see Reiha, her eyes closed. Then she opens them and starts to speak.

My eyes widen. She’s already memorized her own lines and as she performs in front of me . . . it’s like I’m momentarily transported to a fantasy ball.

“That was great!” I exclaim.

“Next line,” she says, all-business.

I laugh. “Okay, okay. I’ll really get into character now.”

And I do. The more we practice together, the more I feel like I understand the prince (even if he’s a rather two-dimensional character). Already, ideas are flooding through my head for my drawings. Namely, Akashi dressed as a prince.

“You’re actually pretty good at this, too,” Reiha says, nearly an hour later. “I guess we do share some genes after all.”

She blinks, her mouth gaping. “I mean —”

I swallow. I know she’d meant it as a joke, but it still hurts . . . and it is true that I’ve wondered about our differences, too. Of course, there is no doubt that we’re actually related, but sometimes, over these last years being apart, I would wonder what really made us sisters.

“That reminds me,” I start. “Grandpa was thinking that we should . . . talk to Dad sometime.”

All the fun that had been in the room dissipates into a vacuum. “No.” She shakes her head. “Definitely not.”

“He’s not that far away,” I continue. “Just a few hours over in Tōkyō —”

“No.” She shakes her head again, more emphatically this time. “I’m sorry . . . but I can’t.”

I hesitate, but voice my thoughts. “Did . . . something happen to you two?”

She looks over at the wall, a glazed look on her face. “Yes,” she says. “You could say that.”

Then, she gathers up the scripts and leaves.

* * *

The debate club is already ten minutes in when Ogiwara Shigehiro appears, breaking our rhythm.

“Oh, I’m sorry for interrupting,” he says. “But I just thought . . . um, the basketball team isn’t meeting today, so I thought I might come and watch you guys debate.”

I frown. “The basketball club isn’t meeting?” I hadn’t heard anything about that.

“Yeah. Akashi said for us to have a break.” There’s a strange expression on his face, but he doesn’t elaborate further.

Akashi said that? That’s . . . unusual, to say the least. From what I’ve seen, Akashi’s never been one to cancel, especially without notice. There have been a few times that he’s missed practice for important student council meetings, but he’s always told us beforehand, and usually Coach will take over in his place. So what brought on this unprecedented event? Was it the other day in the rain? Did he catch a cold? (Yet even the idea of Akashi being sick seems laughable.)

“Well,” I say, after a moment’s thought, “you’re welcome to sit in and participate.”

Ogiwara grins and drags up a chair, sitting at the edge of our circle. Murano, who I’ve always thought was a bit unfriendly, actually waves at him. I suppose that’s just the guy Ogiwara is, always making friends. It seems he’s even close with Reiha, although she refuses to admit it.

“As I was saying,” Fujikawa, the leader of this topic says, “do we really have to wear school uniforms? I mean, I know it’s kind of tradition or whatnot, but these skirts are really itchy. Plus, don’t you think wearing whatever we wanted would promote creativity and individuality?”

“Absolutely not,” Murano says, the head of the other side of the debate. (For some reason, he and Fujikawa seem always be at opposite ends . . . yet I’ve heard a rumor that they’re dating.) “We don’t need to wear our own clothes to be individual. Wearing a uniform is to easily identify us from one school to another. It also creates a sense of unity, teamwork, which is important in the school environment.”

“Unity and teamwork are important yes,” Fujikawa concedes, “but that mindset can also have negative effects on students. Thoughts like ‘I’m just the same as everyone else,’ ‘I cannot do anything by myself,’ for example.”

“Your theory hardly ever makes an appearance,” Murano retorts. “We’re not the United States. How often do people really think that? The idea of being unified strengthens people rather than weakens them. ‘I am stronger with the help of others behind me.’ ‘We can do more together than I can do alone.’”

Fujikawa narrows her eyes. “But you don’t really think that, do you? You don’t really care about teamwork at all! Just yesterday, you were talking about how you should only believe in yourself and your own strengths!”

Murano smirks. “Maybe I changed my mind.”

Fujikawa opens her mouth to reply, her eyes blazing, but I hold up my hands. “Stop right there. Fujikawa, one of Murano’s strengths in debating is that he can objectively defend both sides without letting his own personal opinions cloud the subject. Your strength is that you can always stay firm in your beliefs. That may seem contradictory, but both are very good strengths to have.”

“If I may,” a voice speaks up.

We all start, having forgotten Ogiwara completely.

“If I may add my opinion to this discussion,” he says, “I think that it’s good to have both individuality and unity.”

“You can’t have both at the same time, though,” Murano says, not having an inch of sympathy for his friend.

Ogiwara doesn’t back down at all, though. “I don’t mean that. Every person may favor one over the other, and that’s fine. But perhaps it’s good to just be aware of both. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from playing basketball, it’s that you really do need to rely on your teammates and be able to work with them. But you can’t be completely dependent on them either. You still have to think for yourself and make your own decisions. Basketball isn’t a game where you can have everyone else do the hard things for you — sometimes, you have to decide whether it’s a step you can take, or a step you should let a teammate take.”

Why is it, I think, that we always end up talking about basketball?

The others seem to think Ogiwara’s point is valid. Murano even smiles and congratulates his friend for coming up with a good comeback, even though he has no debate experience.

I smile at my small group, and after allowing them a few minutes of playing around, lead them back to the topic.

* * *

I managed to come this far, so I might as well go the extra mile.

Of course, that’s speaking figuratively.

Currently, I’m standing before Akashi Seijūrō’s house.

Mansion.

I had managed to secure his address from his homeroom teacher, with an excuse about wanting to pass along club data, and now I’m facing the pathway that leads to his front door. Or I think it’s his front door. This place may have multiple entrances for all I know.

I have never seen such a huge place before.

If I ever doubted that he had money before, those assumptions are gone.

Although we had exchanged numbers for the team, I have never messaged him before today. As of yet, he hasn’t responded so, with a deep breath, I take a step forward. One after the other, until I’m finally at the front door. I rap my knuckles against the wood — and a real, actual live butler answers.

“Yes?” he says. “May I help you?”

I swallow, staring at his pristine uniform. “My name is Kasayama Mitsuri. I’m a . . . friend of Akashi-kun’s.”

The butler looks delighted. “Ah! I see. Please come in, and I’ll alert him.”

I almost expected him to call Akashi his master.

He lets me wait in the entryway while he goes to notify Akashi that I’m here. The inside has finely polished wood floors, delicate decorations, and neatly placed flowers. There are stairs in front of me, and hallways to both sides, most likely leading to other winding places. After only a few minutes later, Akashi comes down from the stairs, his face pale, and his eyes landing on me.

“Kasayama-san,” he says. “What are you doing here?”

I swallow again. “I — I heard that basketball was canceled today. So I was wondering —”

“Oh, that.”

The way he dispassionately says it catches me off-guard. I’ve never heard him take that tone with basketball before.

“Are you sick?” I ask. “Do you need me to —”

“I’m fine.”

I take a step back.

His voice has become sharp, his eyes dark. Standing on the stairs as he is now, one hand on the railing . . . usually, I can always find a picture when I look at him, but now . . . now I can’t see anything.

“Akashi-kun.” My voice comes out uneasy-sounding. “What’s wrong?”

His eyes flash, and he takes the last few steps until he’s on ground level with me. “I said, I’m fine.”

“No, you’re —”

He is right in front of me now. His eyes are burning into my own. Wildly, I try to memorize the planes of his face, the shades of his hair in this lighting, but I can’t — no, I can’t because what I’m seeing right now is something I’d never be able to draw.

I just want to forget it.

He closes his eyes.

And then, his whole posture, everything that is in him, slumps. I think he almost falls, but at the last moment, his hand darts out and grabs my arm. I freeze at the touch. His skin against my skin. Cold, warm. Hard, soft.

“Akashi-kun,” I say.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out. “You should go.”

“What’s wrong?” I ask again.

He tilts his head to glance up at me, and I’m relieved — so relieved — to see that his eyes are back to normal. He still looks tired, almost defeated, but he seems like himself again.

“Nothing is wrong, Kasayama-san.” He doesn’t look at me when he says this.

I reach my hand up and take his away from my arm. “Don’t lie to me,” I say. “I will hate you forever if you lie.”

I don’t know what propels me to say that — but as soon as the words leave my mouth, I know they’re true. Because as long as I’ve known Akashi, he’s been sincere to me. I’ve held that certainty next to my heart. If he is going to lie to me now, I’ll turn, and I’ll never look back.

His gaze locks back onto me. He licks his lips, a nervous move I’ve never seen him make. Then he says, “Forgive me. I should not have said that.”

He glances down, at our hands, at our fingers which are still interlocked. I hadn’t even realized. It’s a comfortable feeling. He doesn’t make a move to separate.

“My father has been pressuring me lately,” he says. “He called me home today without warning. Even though he always wants me to uphold my responsibilities, he doesn’t respect them himself. He is . . . selfish. So I had to cancel practice today, and I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’ll do better next time.”

I grip his hand tighter. He looks down again, and there’s a strange expression on his face.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask.

“What?”

I don’t clarify what I’m talking about. He knows.

“You could’ve told me.”

His eyes are wide, like the thought never occurred to him. Hasn’t this happened before? He really doesn’t think of himself. “I didn’t . . . want to burden you.”

“Nonsense!” I wave my other hand in the air. “If your dad needs you to help him out more, then I’ll help with the club more. Or if you’d rather spend your time with basketball, why not talk to your dad?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Why can’t it be?”

“We’re . . . the Akashi family. Success in everything is required. Half-measures aren’t accepted.”

“And it’s that kind of thinking that led you right here,” I say, squeezing his hand. “I don’t understand why you think you must do everything and beyond. You’re already perfect. When can enough be enough?”

He squints at me. “Perfect . . . ?”

I flush. “Well, I mean, no one can be perfect. But if we’re just going by average standards, then most people would say you’re perfect! You have the best grades of anyone in Rakuzan. You’re a genius at sports. And you even have good looks!” I recall what Reiha said. “It’s almost unfair, how perfect you are.”

“I’m not, though,” he says. “No one can be.”

I smile at him. “Of course not. But that doesn’t matter. Isn’t it enough for your dad, at least? To look at all your accomplishments and see how hard you’ve worked? Who cares if you aren’t all the way perfect? No one else is, after all. Even if you think you are the least perfect person in the world, that’s okay, because I’m sure there is at least one person out there that knows you — who you really are — and won’t care.”

His eyes are round. I can almost see his mind trying to process what I’ve said. Finally, he says, “If I were to find a person like that, what would I do?”

My smile widens. “You’d never let them go, of course.”

His fingers tighten around my hand, and I suddenly realize what I just said.


	14. Reiha

It’s been a week since Ogiwara confessed to me and I joined drama. Since then, I managed to audition successfully, with the results to be posted this afternoon, and Shiyo and I spend nearly every lunch together. On the other hand, my relationship with Ogiwara seems to have come to a dead stop. I’ve gone to the basketball court a few times, but he’s never there when I am. In class, he stills blushes and avoids my gaze, and we never exchange more than greetings.

For all his bravado, I guess he’s actually pretty shy. At least when it comes to his crushes.

I’ve about had enough of it when I see him finally approaching me during lunch break. Shiyo went to get some melon bread for her lunch, so he slides into her usual chair. There’s an awkward look on his face — I don’t know how else to describe it.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey.”

“So, um, you wanna meet up sometime?”

I give him a look, and he squirms.

“Sorry for not hanging out this last week,” he blurts. “My parents went on vacation, so I had to babysit my brothers all week.”

I wave a hand. “It’s fine.”

And it is, really. It’s not like we’ve ever made a commitment to each other . . . and I doubt Ogiwara is the type to think that, just because he confessed, that I’m going to treat him like a candidate for my love now.

Nope. We’re just going to be friends as always.

He smiles in relief. “So you want to play some tonight?”

I try to hide my eagerness, but in truth, I’ve missed playing with him.

* * *

We agree to meet up after basketball ends. Practice seems to go by slower than usual, and there are a few mishaps that interrupt things. Akashi looks pale today, and I wonder if he’s sick. Mitsuri hovers around him, almost like a worried mother, and I can’t stop smirking when I see the two of them. I’d heard she’d gone over to his house for “club purposes,” though she refuses to tell me what really happened.

Finally, practice ends. The boys head to the shower, while Mitsuri and I wrap things up in the clubroom. The air is a little stiff around us. I wonder if something happened at Akashi’s . . . and then our brief conversation about Dad echoes in my mind. I hadn’t meant to be so harsh . . . but I’m not nearly ready enough to jump that hurdle yet.

It’s when we’re both stalling that I realize it’s not just the awkwardness between us — both of us are waiting for someone.

Mitsuri glances at me. “Are you going to play with Ogiwara some?” she guesses, her tone light.

Am I that transparent? Or does she just know me well, even after all these years?

“Yeah,” I admit. “And is Akashi going to walk you home?”

Even though it’s common knowledge by now, she still blushes. “Yeah.” She quickly changes the subject. “Hey, weren’t they announcing the results of the auditions today?”

My eyes widen. “I forgot. Hey, do you think you can tell Shige to meet me at the court?” I don’t bother specifying which one. It’s obvious. “I’m gonna go check.”

Before she can answer, I’m dashing out of the room.

I guess there’s one good thing about me waiting this late to check — none of the other drama club members are crowding in the clubroom. When I enter, the room is empty and still as messy as ever. The only difference is the piece of paper posted on the bullet board. I make a beeline for it, my eyes skimming the paper for —

I don’t have to look long.

My name’s on the top of the paper, next to the role . . . _Cinderella_.

A grin stretches across my face, and I let out a whoop. I’m more excited about this than I thought I’d be. I can’t wait to tell Ogiwara —

Looking at the clock on the wall, I realize he’s probably waiting for me and hurry out.

When I reach the court, I realize we’ve been lucky. All the times we’ve played, it’s always been empty. But tonight, there are three college-aged guys playing and laughing together. I stare dumbly at them, holding the ball in one hand.

“Oh. Reiha.”

Ogiwara’s voice behind me causes me to start, and I nearly drop my ball.

“Shige,” I hiss. “Don’t scare me like that.”

“S-sorry.” He blushes, like he’s been doing the last few times I’ve spoken with him. “Uh . . . it looks like tonight’s not a good night to play, huh?”

“Yeah.” I glance back at the court.

“Do you wanna come back later?”

“Sure.”

It takes me a moment to realize what I’ve agreed to.

“Wait. If we come back later, what’ll we do in the meantime?”

He grins. “I have a few ideas.”

* * *

The sun’s beginning to set as we walk through the streets, the nights are cooling down.

I’m buzzing with the news of my role. Now that I think about it, though, I never told him that I officially joined the drama club. I think he knows, based on how Shiyo and I hang out in the classroom together, but I never actually said anything about it.

And then — I remember Mom.

Normally, she’d be the first person I’d tell this news to. But lately . . . I’ve barely been thinking of her at all. I finally replied to her email, after Mitsuri, having received an email from Mom herself wondering if I’d dropped off the face of the earth, admonished me. But my replies had been short, and hers even shorter. She’d mentioned calling me soon so we could talk “voice-to-voice,” but I’d excused myself, saying I was too busy to do it any time soon.

I sigh and push thoughts of Mom out of my head. Then I turn to Ogiwara and say, “I joined the drama club.”

He glances at me. “Yeah? That’s great.”

“Which means you have to try another club, too.”

He groans. “Oh, I forgot about that.”

“But I haven’t.”

“Yeah, I can see that. All right, all right. I’ll look into something.” He must sense there’s something else I want to tell him, because he looks at me strangely, bouncing up and down as I am.

“I got the main lead,” I say.

His eyes widen as he stops to look at me. “Are you serious?”

“Why, do you not think I’m not good enough for it?” I put an overexaggerated pout on my face.

He shakes his head, stunned. “No, that’s not it. It’s just — wow. That’s great. I’m happy for you.”

I grin. “Yeah. You’ve got to come see it.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t dream of missing it.” Then, to my surprise, he hooks his arm through mine and says, “I guess this calls for a celebration. My treat.”

We walk a few more minutes, catching up on the last week, then he leads me into a place advertising noodles. “This is my favorite place,” he says, and he orders for us, not even asking me what I like. Normally, I’d be irritated by this, but somehow, with him, I feel like he’d get something I’d like. Maybe even love. So I don’t complain.

And when the food comes out, I realize I was right.

“This is delicious!” I say, piling the food into my mouth.

He laughs. “I can barely understand you, Reiha. Didn’t your parents teach you not to speak with your mouth full?”

I pause at the mention of “parents.”

_Well, yeah, my mom taught me a lot of things . . . but my dad . . . he just taught me how to be —_

I shake the thought away and point a chopstick at him. “Yeah, well, didn’t your parents teach you not to be messy?”

“Huh?” He blinks at me, totally unaware of the dot of sauce on his chin.

Sighing, I lay down my chopsticks and then pick up a napkin and dab the sauce away. I can feel the heat of his cheeks from under the thin paper.

“R-Reiha — you could’ve just told me.”

“That’s no fun, though.”

“But you don’t have to tease me so much, you know.”

Honestly, I can think of a hundred other ways to make it worse for him. If anything, I’m holding back. I don’t tell him that, though. I just shoot him a grin, and he rolls his eyes.

After dinner, he insists on continuing to “celebrate,” and takes me to all different kinds of stores. I’m not quite sure what his goal is, but maybe it has something to do with trying to “help” me. Usually, I hate shopping, but he manages to pick out the interesting places — places that even manage to hold my attention. And he’s always moving, pointing things out to me, wondering and asking questions. Even with total strangers, he can strike up conversations and pull out genuine smiles from them. Seeing him in an environment other than school and basketball is really something.

“Reiha.” He says my name softly.

“Hmm?”

“Do you want to go back to the court now or . . . ?”

I grab his hand. He starts.

“No,” I say. “You still have more, don’t you? That you want to show me.”

“Y-yeah . . . I guess so.”

“Then let’s go see more.”


	15. Mitsuri

Akashi seems back to normal only a few days later. It’s like the day off didn’t affect him at all, yet every so often, I’ll catch him glancing to the distance, a blank expression on his face. But before I can confront him, he always straightens and returns to his work with a fervor.

After debate club ends, I hurry to the gym, quickly change in the girls’ locker room, and head to the clubroom. There are still a few people in the practicing, and they cast me glances as I pass. Reiha’s already in the clubroom when I enter, and she greets me with a nod of acknowledgment. Things have mostly gone back to normal between us. And now that she’s secured the part of Cinderella, we’ve been doing more practices as well.

“Anything new today?” I ask.

“Not really,” she says.

“How’s the team working together?”

“Do you mean everyone or the regulars?”

“The regulars.”

She glances up from the papers she’d been poring over. “Good. They seem to work well enough together. It’s just . . .”

“Just what?”

She frowns, more to herself than me or anyone else. “It doesn’t seem like they ever talk to each other. Each of their basketball instincts are good enough that they can understand each other well enough without words, but even outside the court, they don’t seem to hang out much. Especially with Shige — I mean, Ogiwara.”

“I thought that they were good friends. Or at least, the regulars of last year.”

“It seems they are. But lately, Akashi hasn’t been spending much time with the club. He comes at the latest time possible and leaves as soon as he can. I never see him hanging around with Mibuchi, Hayama, or Nebuya anymore either. He pretty much completely ignores Shige — Ogiwara. I hate to say it, but even as slight as it is, it’s created some problems.”

“Problems how?”

“They make fumbles in their plays more easily than they used to. They’re not as . . . offensive as before. It’s like they’ve lost their confidence.”

I ponder over the information she’s given me. It’s true that Akashi’s had a lot on his shoulders lately — he told me as much. And if the captain behaves differently than normal, then that’s sure to create discord in the team. I’m sure Akashi’s aware of the influence he has on other people; I’ve almost never seen him trip up in dealing with others. And yet . . . the pressure his father has put on him must be huge, for him to even be distracted during practice. I thought that talking with him last time had helped, but would he still appreciate me reaching out? Or would he think I’m being nosy and interfering with his family business?

To clear my head, I lean over Reiha’s shoulders and examine her papers. She’s gathered the latest stats of each player, and I’m impressed by the way she’s organized them. She shifts uncomfortably underneath my gaze, and after a moment, stands up, and says, “I’ll be going home now. How much longer are you going to stay today?”

I blink. “Uh, I don’t know. Maybe an hour or so? Is Akashi-kun still here?”

She nods. “He is. Some first-years asked him for some advice.”

Imagining Akashi teaching first-years makes me smile. “Thanks. See you later, then.”

She takes her bag and leaves, and after a moment, I peek into the gym. True to her word, Akashi is with the first-years, giving them tips on how to shoot three-pointers. One first-year takes a ball in his hand and jumps into his shooting form — the ball slides from his fingers and drops to the ground three feet from him. I can see his red face from here.

Instead of getting angry or irritated, Akashi takes the fallen ball, speaks some words that I can’t hear, and shows the first-year the correct position by shooting the ball himself. I feel like it’s been a long time since I’ve watched him play — I realize that I’ve never actually seen him play in an official game, and a sudden yearning rises inside of me.

Even though I’m still not nearly a professional in basketball, I can tell that his form is perfect, that the shot will go through the hoop with barely a sound. The ball flies through the air, an arc so smooth that I can almost see its afterimage, and swishes through the basket.

My breath leaves me. I’m fairly sure that the first-years are in the same state of awe.

The group of younger students titter around him, and each goes to grab a ball, now remotivated and eager to try again.

Akashi watches them, a serene expression on his face. Compared to when I visited him, it’s a stark difference, and I find myself being calmed by the sight. Almost like he senses my gaze, his head tilts and his eyes find mine.

My heart speeds up in my chest. For several moments, neither of us do anything. Then, he simply nods at me, before turning his attention back to the first-years. My fingers have curled into a fist, and there is an echo of his touch on my skin.

* * *

After that, I try to do my work for the club, but it’s somewhat in vain, because I can’t seem to get the image of Akashi out of my head. I struggle through Reiha’s latest data and the stats of their most recent practice match, until finally, I give up, and lean back into the chair. It’s no use. Taking out my sketchbook, I flip open a blank page and begin with his eyes.

Just moments after I’ve finished the outlines of his irises, the door to the clubroom opens. I start, and a dark line careens over the page.

“Oh.” Akashi’s eyes widen at the sight of me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t —”

I stand up quickly, my pencil dropping to the ground. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

His gaze lands on the page, then back up to me. “Are those —?”

“Yes. They’re your eyes again.”

If he thinks I’m slightly obsessed, he doesn’t say. Instead, he steps closer and lightly touches my arm. “Kasayama-san,” he says.

“Yes?”

“Would you do me a favor?”

A thrill runs through me. Finally, he’s asking me for something! “Of course. What is it you need?”

He smiles, moves past me, and to the cabinets behind. Reaching into one, he pulls out a shōgi board. My eyes widen in surprise as he places it on the table before me and begins setting the pieces down.

“You want me to play with you?” It’s a stupid question.

“If you will.”

“I’ll be no match for you, though.”

“I don’t mind.”

I pause slightly, then slide down into the chair. It wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but maybe it will help him feel better. Akashi sits before me and folds his hand in front of him. He says, “You first.”

I survey my pieces, refamiliarizing myself with their positions and abilities. Then, taking a pawn, I move it forward. A cliché move, but I know nothing else. I was never taught any strategy of any sort, so I will simply wait till Akashi makes his move before I decide on what to do.

He moves his pawn forward, an exact mirror of my move. I frown and pick up my knight to fill my pawn’s empty space. The game continues in silence for the next half hour, ending in me being utterly destroyed. I’d managed to promote a few pieces, but in the end, it hardly did me any good, and Akashi didn’t even use the promotion option — clearly, for someone like me, he doesn’t need it.

He doesn’t hold back. For that, I am grateful.

I am not sure why he asked to play shōgi with me, now of all times. I’ve known that he enjoys the game, that he excels at it since the shōgi club members regularly challenge him (and lose), yet wanting to play with a complete amateur makes little sense.

Sometimes, I feel like half of my thoughts are occupied by trying to figure out the enigma that is Akashi Seijūrō.

As he packs up the shōgi board, I find it difficult to speak up and voice the thoughts in my head. Why did you want to play with me? Why did you start walking me back to my home? Why did you offer me this position as the basketball club manager? Why are you . . . so nice to me?

What can I do to help you?

When he turns back to me, he must see the questions swirling on my face, because he says, “Is something wrong?”

“No.” My voice comes out slightly strangled. “Nothing’s wrong. I just —”

“You played a good game,” he says. “I enjoyed it.”

My heart stutters. He is not lying, because he does not lie. I can see the contentment written on his face.

“Do you really enjoy shōgi that much?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says. “It is a good exercise for the mind. And having someone to play it with always makes it more interesting.”

I may be wrong, but I think he just said that half the reason he enjoyed the game was because of me.

I smile and say, “Well, then, let’s play again sometimes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! If you've read this far, thanks so much! Just one thing I'd like to mention: so we're not actually going to see much of Akashi's "other self" (Bokushi). For one thing, when writing this story, I didn't want to make it too heavy (although, undoubtedly, Akashi's story is a heavy one). As you may know, Akashi's other self is based on Dissociative Identity Disorder, although, of course, his case is not entirely accurate (and not much is known about DID anyway). Essentially, though, I'm not especially trying to be scientifically accurate, but instead writing the character how he was written, or at least how I perceive him. If you see any inaccuracies with his character, do let me know!
> 
> Once again, thanks for reading! Until next time.
> 
> ~J. Dominique


	16. Reiha

Our first play practice goes by smoother than I expected, considering the head of the club and the chaotic nature of its members.

Everyone crowds around me when I first enter, congratulating me and expressing their surprise and excitement. I’d expected some of the veterans to be upset, but no one seems to hold any hard feelings.

“Okay, okay!” Kikuchi claps his hand together, an irritating habit I’ll have to get used to. “Let’s get this started, people!”

He leads us through a quick discussion to clear any misunderstandings on costumes or props or whatnot. Then, we finally begin _practicing_.

“Since you’re the main lead, you’ll need to be here as much as possible.” Kikuchi wrinkles his nose, and I get the feeling he wasn’t the one who wanted me as lead.

“Okay.” I nod.

“We’ll need to make sure you have chemistry with Ikeda,” he says, motioning to the guy playing Prince Charming.

Of all the positives in being able to play the lead, I’m not looking forward to having to act out a romance with someone I barely know. I mean, Ikeda is good-looking, an obvious reason for why he was chosen, but . . .

_Would you still be reluctant if it was Ogiwara? _

I push the thought out of my head and return my attention to whatever Kikuchi’s saying.

“It’d be a good idea if you could compare schedules with everyone,” he says, “in case you guys want to get in some extra practice.”

“Ooh, extra practice! I like the sound of that.” Shiyo grabs my arm, practically hanging off me. She was cast as one of the ugly stepsisters — which is far from the truth — but she seems to be embracing the role. “I’ll make sure to bully Reiha good!”

I laugh and pry her fingers off me. “Just you try.”

“Quit that attitude.” Kikuchi points his finger at me. “Remember, when you’re in character, _act _like it. Cinderella would never be so aggressive.”

That was aggressive?

I hunch my shoulders, cast my gaze down, and say, in a trembling voice, “S-sorry. I won’t do it again.”

There’s a moment of silence. I resume my usual posture and glance around at everyone, confused. “What’s wrong?”

“If I had any doubts about your acting,” one kid says, “then they’re gone now.”

And just like that, I’m accepted into the drama club.

* * *

“You want me to do what?”

Students pour around us in streams, chatting or on their phones as they walk to class. I ignore them and focus on Ogiwara’s face, which holds an earnest expression as he repeats what he just said. “I want you to come over for dinner. I mean, please. Please, if you will, come over for dinner.”

“Um, why?”

“Why not?”

“It sounds like a date.”

His face goes red. “It — it’s . . .”

Well, he doesn’t seem to know himself. I flash him a grin. I’ll rarely refuse food. “Okay, I’ll come. What time do you want me over?”

“I was thinking we might cook the food ourselves. Because, it’s fun to cook together, you know? So how about around five?”

“That sounds fine.”

The idea of cooking with Ogiwara is not unappealing. It’s been a long time since I’ve cooked, much less with anyone else, so it’ll be an experience.

“What do you want to cook?” he asks me. “Something easy, like curry? Or would you rather do something harder?”

“It doesn’t matter to me. That aside, I’m surprised you invited me over to cook a meal.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“It just seems an odd thing for a boy to do.”

“Huh?”

“I didn’t peg you for the cooking type, especially since you always seem to make a mess of your food.”

“What’s wrong with that?” He appears offended. “I’m a lot cleaner when I cook.”

I have a hard time picturing that, but I don’t argue.

“I’ll pick something out then,” he continues. “I’ll see you at practice.”

With a wave, he moves away from me, even though we are both going to the same classroom. Immediately he gets swallowed up by some of his friends, a few boys who punch him lightly on the back and ask him about basketball. I walk quietly behind them — the novelty of me being Mitsuri’s twin has finally worn off, and nowadays, most people just ignore me, unless I decide to do something to draw their attention.

Sometimes, I wish Ogiwara would stay by my side and walk me to class, but then I think I would rather he not. Us being together would only attract more eyes, more questions, more rumors. And although I usually don’t mind the attention . . . something about people gossiping about my love life doesn’t sit well with me. He knows it, too, which is why he never talks to me long in school. I hate to admit it, but even though he hasn’t known me very long, he can read me astonishingly well, and always seems to be a considerable step ahead of me.

I’ve been caught up in the allure of relationships before, more than I’d like to admit. And most of them didn’t end well, especially considering my last one . . . but something with Ogiwara feels different than those past times.

So, for some reason, I find myself still accepting his offers.

* * *

“You came!” The grin on his face suddenly makes me question why I did, in fact, come.

It’s cuter than I last remember.

“I said I would.”

“Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t go back on your word, would you?” He opens the door to his apartment and lets me in. Shoving my shoes off, I step in and survey the place. He seems to be the only here at the moment, something I’m glad for. I don’t know how I’d deal with his little brothers. I’ve never been good with kids. Or adults for that matters. (My relationships with my peers are also questionable.) You can tell they’ve left their mark on the place, toys scattered around the room, a few stains on the carpet. You can see evidence of Ogiwara, too: there are a few basketball magazines on the table along with a few textbooks I recognize. I follow him into the kitchen, where he’s already laid out pots and pans, the ingredients beside them.

“I was thinking we could try making some _shogayaki_,” he says. “Have you ever done that before?”

“No,” I say. “But I know how to do it, so it shouldn’t be too hard. You just season it and then fry it in the pan, right?”

He nods. “Pretty much. Do you want to eat the shredded cabbage with it? Or I have —”

“Whatever you want is fine with me.”

He rolls his face. “You know, sometimes it’s like you’re really bossy, and then at other times, you really don’t care either way.”

I give him a sideways glance. “Which would you prefer?”

“I like hearing your thoughts.”

Which isn’t quite the answer I was looking for.

“Do you want an apron?” he asks, pulling open a drawer and motioning to patterned clothes.

“I’m good, thanks.”

He nods and begins to close the drawer, but at my expression, he pauses. “What?”

“You’re not going to wear one?”

He scowls. “I told you —”

“I don’t trust you.”

“Reiha —”

I move toward him and reach past his outstretched hand for an apron. Taking out one striped in blue and red, I drape it over his shoulders, then spin him around so I can tie it in the back. “There,” I say. “Now we’re good.”

“This is ridiculous,” he mutters.

“You look fine,” I say, shrewdly observing him.

“No, now you’re just making fun of me.”

I grin. “Maybe.”

He shakes his head, then pulls out some pork from the fridge and directs me to the cutting board where a sharp knife waits.

“You’re letting me cut it?” I say, slightly surprised.

“Would you rather do the cabbage?” he asks, holding the green vegetable.

“Mm, no thanks. I’ll stick with the meat.”

He smirks. “I thought so.”

I know some people get grossed out by touching raw meat, but it’s never bothered me before. Sure, it’s slimy, but just wash your hands after, yeah? I take the pork loins into my hands and begin slicing them as thinly as I can. I’m surprised by how easily the knife cuts through; Ogiwara must cook a lot, to have all these tools.

Once I finish with the meat and have washed my hands, I salt and pepper it, then begin the seasoning mix. Onion, garlic, ginger . . . whenever I ask for the spices, Ogiwara always knows exactly where they are.

Finally, the meat’s done, and I see that while I’ve been busy with that, he’s already prepared the pan and gotten the oil heated up.

“You’re good at this,” I observe.

“So are you,” he says. “I’m never able to slice my meat so nice and evenly.”

“It’s not like it’s that much of a talent to be proud of,” I say. “Yay, I can slice meat thin! I’m not looking to go into a cooking career, so it’ll sure do me a lot of good.”

“Why not? I’m sure you’ll cook a lot of good meals for your family someday.”

The idea of me being a housewife has never quite been appealing to me.

Ogiwara must see my expression because he grins and says, “Not a thought you’ve ever entertained, I see.”

“Not really.”

“You’ve never liked anyone before?”

I can see that he didn’t mean to say that — the reddening of his face betrays him. He’s just too curious to help himself.

“No.”

He blinks. “That’s surprising.”

“And why do you say that?” I glance down at the pork, check one side, and flip it over.

“It just seems like lots of guys would be falling all over you, especially since you’ve gone to so many places and seen so many things. I thought that there’d surely be some of them whose feelings you’d return.”

I have to wonder if he really thinks about me so much. I should tell him it’s not healthy.

“Sure, I guess,” I say. “There have been people like that. But it’s not like I’m required to try and like someone who likes me, am I? It can be fun to date for a while, but . . . spending more time with them, giving them a chance . . . that’s just cruel.”

“So you stop it as soon as you can.”

I want to say yes — but that would be a lie. And while I lie a lot, for some reason, I can’t tell this one.

“What about me, then?”

I’d been about to flip another piece of pork, but at his question, I freeze, the pair of tongs wrapped around the meat, leaving it half in the oil, half out.

He approaches me from behind — his hand wraps around mine, and without saying a word, he flips the meat for me. It lands back into the oil with a sizzle. I’m starkly aware of his presence at my back, the heat from his body, his shallow breath.

“What about me?” he asks again.

I breathe out and lay the tongs down. “I don’t know about you.”

His hands reach to my shoulders, and I let out a small gasp. He turns me around, just like I did to him earlier, and, reluctantly, I look up into his face — he’s smiling. (Why is it he’s always smiling?)

“That’s okay,” he says. “I don’t mind.”

I know he doesn’t. I know he doesn’t. So is that why I’m still here? With him? Because it’s comfortable, and I enjoy that feeling? The feeling that I can relax and say whatever I want? Even after his confession, and even if there are still small amounts of awkwardness because of it, most of the time . . . it’s just fun being with him.

That must be it. Because if he’s been nothing but nice to him, love is not something I want to pursue. Love hangs you up on a wall, pins you there for everyone to see, and never lets you escape. Cages you, chains you — like an animal on display, your heart can no longer stay hidden. It forces you to say things you never would say, do things you never should attempt, create things that should never exist. I don’t want to be held down, which is why, surely, Ogiwara will understand that I’ll never fall for him.

.


	17. Reiha

“An unscheduled practice match?” The coach crosses his arms.

“Yes,” I say. “I think . . . it would be beneficial for the team, namely the regulars. An impromptu game might also bring out more of their potential, and we need that if we’re going to win Inter-High this year.”

“Have you spoken to Akashi about this?”

I wince. “No, not yet.”

“If he approves, I’ll allow it.”

And that’s how it’s always been. Most of the people in Rakuzan are so capable and efficient that there really is no need for the coach other than to be a figurehead and to step in when an adult is needed.

Having Akashi, especially . . .

Leaving the coach, I peek into the gym where Akashi’s already directed everyone to doing a variety of exercises. He stands at the sidelines, observing the team, but his gaze seems a bit . . . off. Usually, his focus is always completely on the team, but lately, it seems like he’s gotten more and more distant.

Steeling myself, I enter the gym and approach him. He turns at my footsteps and appraises me. “Reiha,” he says.

“Akashi, um, I just talked to the coach and asked if we could participate in a practice match today. With Nawagami High. They’re wanting more practice for their players and called today, wanting to know if we’d play them. Coach just said to ask you, so . . .”

His eyebrows raise slightly. Then he says, “I don’t mind.”

I wait for something more, but he simply crosses his arms and turns back to watching the team. Well, sort of. It’s clear that his thoughts are elsewhere.

I wish Mitsuri was here. She’s always been closer to Akashi than I have, more concerned about him than I am. Maybe she would have been able to figure out what’s wrong.

Without any more acknowledgment from Akashi, I scurry to the clubroom and call back the manager of Nawagami, to let them know the match has been approved. They’re a close school, so they should be here momentarily.

After the call, I let the players know about the practice match they’ll now be having. Some seem excited, some apprehensive. Most don’t seem to really care. It is Rakuzan, after all. Nawagami is a small school — to even want to practice with a team so out of their league is quite brave. Or maybe reckless. But then again, if they manage to make it past the first match of the preliminaries, they might end up facing us. It would be good experience for both teams to get used to the other.

“Reiha.”

I start at the voice, looking up from some papers on Nawagami.

It’s Ogiwara, sweaty from the warm-ups, his brown eyes large.

“Shige, there something you need?”

“This practice match . . . is there a reason for it?”

I pause at the question. “Is there a reason to need more practice?” I ask.

He frowns. “I guess not, but it just seems sudden, and I . . .” He glances down at his hands.

Just like I thought. The dissonance between the team is growing. Akashi’s recent detachment from the team has impacted the players more than I could’ve predicted. I suppose it makes sense, though. With his perfect passes, he creates a seamless harmony between the team. But lately, he hasn’t been using those at all. It’s a subtle change, but it hasn’t gone by unnoticed. The Three Uncrowned Kings, who would usually hang out with each other, joking around and being stupid, have each been going their separate ways after practice, not even saying good-bye. And Ogiwara, always the odd one out, has now approached me because he, too, senses that something is wrong.

“Shige,” I say. He seems startled by the tone I use for saying his name, and his eyes focus on me. “Is there something you’re wanting to tell me? As co-manager of this team, it’s my responsibility for making sure that everything runs smoothly, and that the players don’t run into any problems. If there’s something bothering you, you don’t need to hold back.”

It’s not something I would usually say — open your heart to me, spill your problems — but I _am _the manager of this team. Somehow, I’ve embraced this job, and Rakuzan has captivated me. I want them to do well. I want them to win.

Ogiwara wears a rueful smile on his face. “You know, you sounded really mature right then, Reiha.”

I glare at him. “What, are you saying I’m usually immature?”

“No, not that. It’s just . . . you really like this job, don’t you?”

The word slips out before I can stop it. “Yes.”

His smile widens. “Then I’ll tell you. But not now. The practice match is going to start soon, isn’t it?”

I jump up from the bench, my gaze darting to the clock. “Yeah, they’re supposed to be here any moment. We’ll talk later, ’kay?”

The court’s been cleaned and cleared for Nawagami High, and just in time. The doors to the gym open and in files the smaller team.

Since I’d been talking to Ogiwara, I hadn’t been able to go through all the data on the school. But now I realize that “smaller” only defines their number. Most of the players are as tall as Nebuya, and the few shorter ones . . . well, you can’t call them short either. There’s a quiet confidence surrounding them, as they gaze around the Rakuzan gym, apparently unimpressed.

I grin. It might be an obscure school, but it looks like they’ll give us a fight today.

Akashi moves toward to greet the team, and I fall into step next to him. “Welcome to Rakuzan,” he says. “I’m Akashi Seijūrō, the captain. This is Kasayama Reiha, our manager.”

A slight girl from the back waves at me, and I realize she must be the manager of their team I spoke to earlier.

“There are locker rooms over there for you to change,” Akashi continues. “If you need anything, please don’t hesitate.”

Even if he’s more distracted than usual, his composure is perfect as always.

“Thank you,” says the manager of Nawagami, and she pushes her boys toward where Akashi indicated. As they clatter toward the locker rooms, she walks up to me and Akashi, a big smile on her face. “Hi. My name is Kogasa Miyo. Please to meet you. Kasayama-san, was it? I’m very thankful that we were able to arrange this practice match, especially at such late notice. You were very accommodating, and I’m grateful for that. I’m looking forward to working with you further.” She dips into a quick bow, her short chin-length hair falling to cover her face.

Akashi blinks. “I’m sure there will be many opportunities in the future for us to play each other, Kogasa-san.”

The girl has clearly been captured by the entity that is Akashi Seijūrō because she looks like she might cry at his words. “Thank you, Akashi-kun!”

“Kogasa-san,” I say, “would you like to have a seat until the game starts? You and I will be refereeing during, if you don’t mind.”

“That sounds great!” she says. A few minutes later, after some endless chatter, the Nawagami players reappear and our own team begins to line up.

Ogiwara sends me a glance before filing into his place, and I wonder briefly what he’s thinking.

I let Kogasa do the tip-off, since she seems so eager and full of energy. She responds to my offer with a million of thank-you’s before getting into place, holding the ball in her small hands. With a whistle in one hand, she blows it, and then throws the ball into the air with the other, a nice high toss.

Nebuya immediately secures the ball, but he almost loses it — the Nawagami center rivals him in height and arm length. With Rakuzan taking the ball first, we quickly score a point. Nebuya passes to Hayama who moves past two Nawagami players before doing a neat layup. Nawagami takes the ball next — Kogasa had told me about a few of their players, but I hadn’t been able to match faces with names. But watching them now, it’s clear that each has an established place in the team, their positions apparent in their movements.

Akashi moves to block the Nawagami point-guard, who hesitates (as anyone would do at being confronted by Akashi). He chooses to pass to a teammate instead of trying to get past Akashi (probably a wise move).

It’s at that moment that I realize we’re in trouble. Ogiwara and Nebuya are near the opponents’ basket, Akashi is still guarding their point-guard, and Mibuchi and Hayama are both too far to defend. The player in possession of the ball, a small forward, launches himself into the three-pointer form, and the ball sails through the hoop.

I wince. They got us on that one. The problem about unscheduled practice matches is that Mitsuri and I can’t research the players beforehand, get to know their abilities, and then tell the Rakuzan players what to expect. Normally, Rakuzan wouldn’t agree to such an unprecedented request, as they don’t like being caught off-guard.

But I wanted to have this practice match. Because when you’re faced with something unknown, something to shake things up, you resort to your instincts. Not a normal, comfortable routine, but what you were innately meant to do.

I am hoping that this match will help the team, so that they can move forward and face victory in the eyes.

The match continues at a rapid pace for the rest of the first quarter, ending with Nawagami two points ahead. It’s shocking to say the least, but as we take a quick two-minute break, I can tell that Rakuzan won’t stand for it. They’re just now getting into their stride; they’ve gotten used to Nawagami’s style now and they won’t be fooled anymore.

The look in their eyes . . . I almost want to grin. It’s been a while since I’ve seen that fierce determination.

For the rest of the game, Rakuzan precedes to crush Nawagami. It was never much of a contest — Nawagami was better than we’d all expected, but you still need to have years of experience before you can hope to beat Rakuzan. (Or you need to be Seirin.)

I’m sure everyone knows that if we end up facing them in the preliminaries that Rakuzan’s victory is basically assured, but the players don’t seem to hold a grudge. After the match ends, both teams shaking hands, and both surprisingly friendly to each other, Kogasa approaches me, her face glowing.

“That was amazing,” she says. “I mean, I know we had no chance of winning, since you’re Rakuzan and all, but it was a pretty good fight, wasn’t it?”

“You guys are really good,” I tell her.

“Thank you,” she says. “So much. Just let me know if you guys want to have another practice match with us sometime, okay?”

I nod. “You, too.”

After Nawagami leaves, we begin to clean the court up again. I retreat back into the clubroom to write down my observations of the team for Mitsuri. She always likes detailed notes, so I’m sure she’ll appreciate my effort, even if it makes my head hurt.

Just as I’m beginning to write down the Nawagami center’s name (which I finally remembered), Mitsuri enters. She surveys me for a moment, before sitting down next to me. “What happened today?” she asks, sensing the charge still lingering in the air.

“We had an unscheduled practice match,” I explain. “With Nawagami High. They were actually pretty good. I was writing some notes down just now.”

Her eyes widen. “What . . . happened, though?”

Even if she doesn’t say it aloud, she’s probably asking about Akashi. “Well, the team seems in a bit better spirits, at least,” I tell her. “Akashi seems more like himself, and he was able to pass to the team again, though they’re not the perfect ones yet.”

She frowns. “But he doesn’t need to use those all the time, does he?”

“But it helps create harmony in the team. When he passes to his teammate in such a way, it instills trust between the players. Normal passes are good, yes, but a perfect pass can do wonders. It heightens your play, your effectiveness, and ability to focus. Akashi knows this, and he knows when to use them at the opportune moment, but the point is . . . he hasn’t been using them _at all_. In weeks. In fact, he’s barely been passing to the team at all, only when he needs to. Having the practice match today helped because we’ve never practiced with Nawagami before. They’re an unknown variable, and all the players today had to work extra hard to overcome them. Akashi, too.”

A crease forms in her brow. “So what you’re saying is . . .”

“Something has been bothering Akashi. A lot. And as a result, it’s impacting the team. He doesn’t seem to notice — which is kind of weird, because Akashi always used to seem aware of everything, you know? But now, he’s always out of it, and he can’t even see how he’s affecting the team. If something doesn’t change soon, then Inter-High could be affected.”

“So what do we do?”

“It’s not something _we _can do, dear sis,” I say. Then I point a finger at her. “You figure it out.”


	18. Mitsuri

The coin rolls through the palm of my hand, from the right to the left, back and forth. The problem with flipping a coin, though, is that you must have a direct yes or no question to ask it. If there is a time when you don’t know what the answer might be or you’re not sure what the question even is, the coin is useless.

Staring at it now in my room, I recall how I ever got into the habit in the first place. It was during the first week we’d been in America. Mom had taken us out to a mall, but somehow, Reiha and I had got separated from her in the crowd. Homesick and scared, I had collapsed in the corner of a store, sobbing. Reiha had then pulled a five yen coin from her pocket.

“Look,” she had said. “It’s from home.” She tossed the coin up into the air before catching it between her palms. “And . . .” She peaks at the side it landed on. “It says we’ll be okay! Here, you try.”

She held the coin to me. I hesitated, but then I took it. Will we find Mom? I silently asked, then I clumsily flipped the coin.

It landed on the side with the flowers.

_Yes. _

At the time, grinning up at Reiha, it had seemed like a miracle, and even after I had moved back to Japan, I had kept the coin on me. Relying on something else for your decisions? I know, how pathetic. I should be more like Reiha, who doesn’t worry about choices or outcomes, but simply does what she wants. But without her by my side, the habit had stuck.

And now that she’s back, challenging me just like she used to . . . what do I want?

I want to see Akashi.

Not because Reiha told me to. Not because I’m the manager of the basketball team. No, I just want to see _him_.

I’d told him that I would help him, and I’ve been waiting. Waiting for him to rely on me. But maybe that wasn’t the right choice. All my life, I’ve let people come to me. Give me my choices. Tell me what do. Flip a coin.

But maybe waiting for people to show me the right direction isn’t what I should be doing.

For a moment, I close my eyes, and in my head, I see a sketch. Akashi, standing in a rain of pencil lines. Akashi, his eyes pulsing with the colors of my gel pens. Akashi, holding a shōgi piece in his hand, edges blurred with an eraser. Then, I see myself . . . waiting in the corner. Always just there. Yet, as time passes, my form becomes clearer, and Akashi slowly disappears, like a ghost.

For some reason, I feel like if I continue to wait, he will vanish entirely.

Standing up, I throw the coin onto my desk, and without another thought, leave to find Akashi Seijūrō.

* * *

This time, he is the one to open his door.

“Kasayama-san,” he says. “I was surprised when I received your text. Is there something you need?”

“Not really, no. I just wanted to see you.”

It seems to take him a moment to process the words. In the meantime, I take his hand, the one still holding the door handle, and push past him, leading him into his own house. Undoubtedly, it’s the most daring I’ve ever been, and I’m probably just as surprised as he is.

“Kasayama-san —” he starts.

“Where’s your room?” I ask him.

“My —?” For the first time ever, Akashi Seijūrō falters. For a moment, his face appears completely blank, like he has no idea what I even asked.

“Your room,” I repeat. “Let’s go there. Let’s talk.”

He glances down for a moment at our hands, then he says, “Okay.” Then, seeming to regain his composure, he squeezes my hand slightly and takes the lead. We head up the stairs and to the right. His room is grand, but simple at the same time. Personalizations and warm touches in all the right places. There is a nostalgic feeling to it, almost, part sad and wanting. The air in the room almost carries a childish hope, and I wonder, momentarily, if this is the room Akashi lived in as a kid as well. If, perhaps, he never really changed the way it appeared.

Akashi lets me have a cushioned armchair, while he takes his desk chair. The way he is staring at me now, curious and intrigued, almost makes me feel uncomfortable. But . . . it also feels good.

“How has your debate club been, Kasayama-san?” he asks, folding his arms in his lap. Always polite, even after I’ve just barged into his house and demanded to see his room.

“Good,” I answer. “We’ve been getting some great discussions in. We have a really invigorating group this year. I’m going to submit applications for a tournament soon.”

I hadn’t wanted to, at first. I was scared of the club, something I had raised into existence, going so public, with my name stamped on the front. But Watanabe-sensei seemed optimistic about our chances, and Akashi . . . well, he’s always been encouraging me.

“I am glad,” he says. “And your work as a manager?”

The fact that he has to ask me that . . . speaks of his own absence. It used to be that he’d come to the clubroom and help me, then walk me home, but now he rarely does that. The last time was the shōgi game.

“Good,” I say again, my mouth dry. “What about you? I mean, how has the basketball club been?”

We are just going through formalities right now. It has never felt so strained before. Why is it that now . . . ?

“The basketball team is progressing well,” he says, and his voice seems all too cold.

Once again, I see that image of him in my mind: his body fading away on the page, the lines being erased.

“Akashi-kun,” I begin, “is your father being hard on you again?”

He stiffens at the question. “My father . . . I told you that he expects a lot from me. It is only my duty to live up to those views.”

“And I also told you that you don’t need to force yourself. Do what you want, Akashi-kun. Not what your father expects you to.”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Another phenomenon today: Akashi Seijūrō, at a loss for words.

Finally, he takes a deep breath and says, “Why did you come here?”

“I already told you that. I wanted to see you.”

He still cannot seem to comprehend such words.

“Is that so wrong?” I ask him. “I like being with you. You’re an interesting person to talk to, and you’re always so polite, so considerate. You’re comfortable and easy to be around, because you always bring out the best in everyone around you. And you . . . you _get _me. So I wanted to see you. Because I also want to understand you. Everything about you.”

“Kasayama-san . . .”

I close my eyes for a moment. Usually, I’m not so bold. Is the debate side of me coming out? I say, “Do you know why I always draw your eyes? Because they’re captivating. They’ve swallowed me whole, and no matter how much I try, I just can’t seem to get them right on paper. Probably . . . because a paper imitation would be nowhere close to the real thing. Akashi-kun, you have beautiful eyes.”

I can hear his sharp intake of breath. His eyes are level on me — the eyes I just confessed to loving. Their intensity, the dark hue, and the layers — all the layers of emotion that I can see, but can’t unravel.

“Thank you for telling me,” he says. “I am flattered that you think that way.”

“Will you tell me what’s bothering you?”

“Yes. I am sorry that I worried you, Kasayama-san. It was not my intention.” Even now, he’s so polite.

“It’s fine,” I insist. “I just wanted you to know that you can tell me anything you want . . . that you’re not alone.”

“I know,” he says softly. Then, “My father wants me to quit the basketball team.”


	19. Mitsuri

I lean back. “What?”

“My father wants me to quit the basketball team,” Akashi repeats. There’s a hollow tone to his voice. For a moment, I belief it’s disbelief and shock at the statement. But then I realize . . . it’s only the bitter disappointment and acceptance of his fate.

“But . . . why?”

“The only reason he allowed me to participate in the sport was a favor to my mother. She introduced me to basketball as a respite from my regular work. When she died, basketball was the only thing my father let me keep in memory of her. On one condition, though: that I succeed, as always, keeping the Akashi name whole.”

“And last year . . . ,” I whisper, knowing the end of the story.

He nods. “Yes. Last year, I lost. The thought of quitting basketball was unbearable to me, and I did everything I could to prevent it, but I could not win against Kuroko’s might and determination.” He gives a rueful, but not resentful, smile. “Though against someone like him, it might be futile to even try.

“I convinced my father to let me continue for the rest of my first year. And even into second year. But now he is rethinking his decision. He is remembering the promise he made me make when he allowed me to play in the first place. And he’s not a man who takes his words lightly.”

“But . . .” I swallow. “Inter-High’s coming up!”

He sighs. “Exactly. My father doesn’t want me to bring shame upon the family again. . . . I fear there is nothing I can do. Standing up against one’s parent isn’t easy. To him, this is a trivial matter.”

“But if you tried explaining —”

“Even if he listened, he wouldn’t understand. Such things as passion, dedication to something you love, and teamwork are beyond my father.”

_I _don’t understand. How Akashi can talk about all these things so calmly. How he can be facing me right now, his face cool and composed as usual. He believes that he knows what the outcome will be, that he won’t be able to change it at all — _but he has to be wrong_.

Because even if he’s accepted such a thing, I won’t.

An Akashi who doesn’t play basketball isn’t an Akashi I know.

Right now, he is rejecting something within himself. The love for the sport he plays so dearly — he thinks he is aware of it, but in reality, he is pushing aside his feelings in order to appease his father. He is doing what he thinks is best, what is safest, but it’s an easy path, not the right one. And it will tear him apart.

He is not thinking about the team at all. What they will do without their point guard, the one who directs them? How they will walk without their captain, the one who leads them? Where will they be without their ace, the one who guides them and pushes them forward?

But most of all, he’s not even thinking about himself.

It’s a trait I’ve seen many times. Akashi’s selflessness. Sometimes, in a way, he appears very selfish indeed. Always bossing everyone around so that things appear to perfection. But actually, he’s quite selfless. For his family’s well-being, for his team’s best interests, and even for the people he doesn’t know very well. If he sees someone he thinks he can help, he will step out, and he will say something.

When I first started the debate club, I was scared by the lack of response and almost gave up . . . but it was Akashi who convinced me to continue. He saw that potential, and even though we were complete strangers, he took time out of his busy day to encourage me.

But the problem with his selflessness is that if he spends so much time worrying about affecting others, where does that leave himself? The truth is, it seems like he tries to avoid thinking about himself entirely. A vast, empty hole is created, and Akashi has no idea how to breach it.

These realizations have all come to me very slowly as I’ve gotten to know Akashi better. The unique and special person that he is, the person who often hides behind a curtain of perfection, but sometimes will grant you a genuine smile.

It is the reason I’m here now. Because I’ve seen who he really is underneath, even if only briefly. I know that that person is tender and caring, thoughtful and cautious, and just a little insecure. That person is tied so closely to that empty void; they’re just teetering on the edge. If I were to take a step — and press — perhaps Akashi would be able to swim through his own darkness and be able to find the truth. But I know that if he follows his father’s orders, gives up his passion . . . then he’ll surely drown.

He doesn’t understand it himself, but for him, basketball is his tether to the light.

But he’s scared. So scared that he’s not good enough for his father. That he’s not good enough even for basketball, for his teammates. Maybe . . . he is scared of being abandoned. And so, before that can happen, he abandons himself first. His feelings, his passion, his friends . . .

“Akashi-kun,” I say after a moment.

His eyes meet mine.

“I think you should consider . . . that following what your father says is not the right thing to do. Yes, often our parents are wise and we should heed their words. Yes, often it’s good to think about the family’s reputation. But just because you made a promise when you were a child and just because you lost _once_ does not mean that you should have to quit basketball. Your father shouldn’t look at what you weren’t able to do, but what you have done. Because your victories far outweigh your single loss.” I let out a small laugh. “I mean, the fact that you’ve only lost once in your entire life? That’s a miracle. No wonder they call you one of the Generation of Miracles. The _captain _of the Generation of Miracles. Isn’t that an accomplishment? Shouldn’t your father be proud of you? You’re president of the student body! You’re top of the class, good at every other sport, can win against anyone at shōgi, and can even demolish the whole debate club with a single sentence. If that’s not an achievement and success, then what is? Akashi-kun, I’ve told you before, and I’ll tell you again, but you’re the very picture of perfection. Your father should be able to see that . . . and if he can’t, then he is blind, and what he tells you to do shouldn’t matter. This is your life, after all. You should do what you want.”

Akashi only stares at me, but I’m not finished yet.

“And I want you to know . . . I know you’re not perfect. I know you’re not. But I don’t care, because I still can’t keep my eyes off you. I can’t stop thinking about you, and I can’t . . .”

Last time, I had told him that there would be someone out there who would know he’s not perfect, and wouldn’t care. At the time, I didn’t know I was speaking about myself.

I breathe in. “I know your father wants you to be successful, but I . . . I just want you to be happy.”

He doesn’t speak for a long time. He stares down at his hands, and I let him think in silence, even though my heart is pounding (was that a confession?).

Finally, he says, “Yes.” His voice sounds strange, almost . . . choked? “Yes. Thank you . . . Kasayama-san. I will talk to him. I will tell him what you said. And I . . . I won’t quit. Because I don’t want to.”

My lips stretch into a smile. How I longed to hear those words: a true proclamation of his desires.

“Good,” I say. “I look forward to working more with you, then, Captain.”


	20. Reiha

For the first time, I go out of my way to find Ogiwara. With Inter-High approaching, the club has taken a day off for rest, and while others might appreciate the break, I feel restless. By asking some of Ogiwara’s friends, I was able to track him down to the school’s dōjō.

Being Rakuzan, the dōjō is a finely polished area, with the best equipment and everything. A few students are in bōgu, with their bamboo swords held at the ready. For a moment, I watch them quickly jab at each other, their shouts echoing through the room, then I move to find Ogiwara.

He’s in the armor, sitting with his helmet in front of him, to the side of the dōjō. With his legs crossed and palms stretched out, it almost appears as if he’s meditating.

“Shige,” I say.

His body jerks, and he almost falls over. “Reiha? What are you doing here?”

“I can’t come watch you try out a new club?” I smile, which he returns.

“I’m not actually trying it out,” he says.

“Why not?”

“You can’t join two sports clubs. It gets a little impossible with all the practices . . . My grandpa’s really into kendō. Medal-winner and all. He was a little disappointed when I switched to basketball. Not that that keeps him from challenging me every time he sees me.” He smiles wryly. “So when my friend heard I was free today, he wanted me to do some demonstrations . . .”

“Sounds cool. I’d like to watch.”

He hesitates. “Okay.”

“You told me that you’d explain everything,” I say, bringing up earlier. “Looks like we have some time. Wanna do that now?”

He lets out a laugh. “Still thinking about that? Okay, then.” He pats the space beside him. “Might as well sit down.”

I nod and collapse into the spot beside him. I’m not sure if he does it on purpose or not, but he leans his shoulder in slightly, until it touches mine. I don’t pull away.

He says, “So you wanted to know what was bothering me.”

“That’s right.”

“It’s because you’re the manager, right?” His eyes search mine briefly. “You want the team to do its best.”

“That’s . . . right.”

He looks a bit disappointed for some reason.

“Well, I told you before that I’ve played basketball for a long time, right? That’s not exactly true . . . I mean, it is. I did start as a kid, but I haven’t _always _played. There was a time, nearly two years ago, when I quit.”

Ogiwara . . . quit basketball? I can’t seem to imagine it. He, who always seems so upbeat, who always is talking about how much he loves the sport . . . quit?

He continues. “I first got into basketball because my parents recommended it. I thought it was really fun, and soon I was playing as much as I could. One day, I met this one guy named Kuroko. I taught him how to play, and we became friends. We promised each other that we’d play against each other in a real match someday.

“Eventually, we separated during middle school. He went to this big-name school called Teikō, and I attended Meikō Middle School. We’d send letters to each other every now and then, updating the other about our basketball experiences. Like when I was made ace, and when he finally got onto the first string on his team. That meant we were going to see each other at Nationals! But I . . . my team lost too soon, and Kuroko’s team — _Teikō _— won. We didn’t face each other that year, but the next year, I thought, for sure. . . .”

Ogiwara stares into the distances, lost in his memories. “And somehow we made it. My team finally managed to get paired up with Teikou. But it wasn’t what I thought it was going to be. Kuroko had gotten injured in the previous game, and when I tried visiting him, I ran into the captain of his team. It was . . . Akashi, actually. He told me that Kuroko wouldn’t be able to play against us. And then . . . he wished me good luck, though he said the result would be the same either way.” Ogiwara lets out a humorless laugh, and I notice his fingers clenching into a fist. “I got so angry at that, and so I probably said things I shouldn’t have. Like, I asked him if he liked playing basketball, and I told him that while Teikō was strong — unbelievably strong — all they were doing was winning. They weren’t getting any enjoyment out of it. And he . . . he said nothing mattered without victory. That those who can enjoy basketball while losing are just weak. And that he really didn’t think we were worthy opponents at all.

“I couldn’t stand that. So I made a foolish statement. I asked him to tell Kuroko that we’d definitely play again. I have no idea if he even listened, but the words he said and the way he said them haunted me. And it only got worse after that. The Generation of Miracles, the team we were facing . . they were all monsters. You could see it in their eyes, the coldness. When I was standing up against them, I felt like there was no hope at all. And in the end, I guess there wasn’t. We lost. One hundred and eleven to eleven. And those measly eleven points we scored? That was all just a game to them. Those were all points _they _allowed us to score. I — couldn’t do _anything _for my team.

“And so I quit. Because after that defeat, I didn’t think I could ever play basketball with a smile on my face anymore. I thought . . . Akashi was right. Pretending to enjoy yourself while losing . . . it’s just a lame excuse.”

I can barely think. Ogiwara’s story has left me numb.

“But . . .” My voice sounds somewhat strangled. “You came back.”

He nods. “Soon after we lost, my father transferred jobs, so I switched schools, and it was easy enough to pretend I’d never played basketball. But then, for my first year of high school, I had to transfer again. To here. To Rakuzan.

“And I missed it. Even if I tried denying it, I missed playing basketball, so one day, I went to the gym . . . and there he was.” He lets out a small, derisive laugh. “It’s not cool to say this to you, but I was terrified. I was terrified he’d see me and call me out, so . . . I ran away. And for the rest of the year, I tried to disappear.

“But then I heard that Rakuzan was facing Seirin in the finals, and I knew that’s where Kuroko went . . . He’d told me, right after I first transferred. He’d told me he’d found a good team and that he was going to bring down the Generation of Miracles. . . . I never replied to him. I know I should’ve — but everything I thought of saying . . . just weren’t the right words. I wanted to believe in Kuroko. I wanted to believe he would be able to defeat the Generation of Miracles, but after witnessing their power firsthand . . .”

He pauses and breathes in deeply. “I wanted to see Kuroko play again, so I went to that match. And there he was, with his teammates. And they were doing everything they could to beat Akashi . . . and when they were at their lowest point, I couldn’t help myself. I shouted out to him, ‘You can do it, Kuroko! Don’t give up!’ And looking back on it now, those were the exact words I wish someone had said to me that last year. So in that moment, I felt like I everything I had endured to that point . . . was just to make me stronger, so that I could keep playing. Keep doing what I wanted to. And so, yes, I came back this year. Because no matter the defeat, I just can’t stop playing . . . because it’s something I love.”

“Even knowing you’d be on the same team as Akashi?”

He gives a small smile. “Well, Kuroko helped with that some. He told me about it later. About what Akashi went through . . . and while I can’t forgive him, he’s had it tough, too. And Kuroko managed to change him during that game. Now . . . he’s different than when I first saw him. I don’t really know how to explain it, but he seems less intense. More considerate of you. That one time when I talked to him I felt like I would wet myself. And, you know, he’s still intimidating now, but he can be almost . . . nice sometimes, too. But sometimes, I wonder if he doesn’t even remember me.”

“What?” I consider this. It’s true that Akashi treats Ogiwara a little different than the other regulars. “What if he’s just avoiding you?”

“Avoiding me? Why would he do that?”

“Maybe he feels guilty.”

Ogiwara looks thoughtful, but after a moment, he says, “You helped, too.”

“Me? Why? What did I do?”

“You were so bold that first day. I thought I should be like that, not caring a bit what anyone thinks of me.”

That’s an interesting way to take me deceiving him and pretending to be my sister. . . .

“Why didn’t you go to school with Kuroko, then?” I ask. “Since you want to play with him so badly.”

“That would’ve been great,” Ogiwara says, “but my family moved here instead. Plus, my promise to Kuroko was for us to play _against _each other in an official match.”

I’m not sure if wording really matters that much, but whatever. Maybe it’s a thing of honor.

“So if that’s the story,” I say slowly, “how does that relate to now?”

He shrugs. “It doesn’t, really. You just wanted to know, so I thought I’d tell you. And I guess . . . Akashi has been acting weird lately. I mean, he was never really friendly to me, but now, it’s like he completely ignores me. The look in his eyes . . . it’s similar to back then. I guess I don’t mind, but like you said, if it’s for the team . . .”

“Akashi is the ace, isn’t he?” I muse.

“Huh? Yeah, he is. He’s a Generation of Miracles.”

“And that guarantees you an ace position?”

“Well . . . pretty much.”

“I thought that the job of the ace was not only in your abilities, but your attitude. To me, Akashi has never seemed to have much of an ace personality.”

“Well . . . I don’t know about that.”

“An ace should be someone who’s concerned about their teammates, who wants to lead them to victory — but in the right ways. An ace should be someone who always has the best interests of the team in their heart, and the strength and the positivity to hold their team’s hopes and dreams. Do you really think Akashi is that kind of person?”

“But . . . he’s . . .”

“I’m just saying. I think you’d be a better ace, Shige.”

“Me?” His eyes are wide. “I’m definitely not ace material, please don’t say that.”

“Weren’t you an ace in middle school?”

“And look at how that turned out.”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“But because of me — I couldn’t do anything. Didn’t you hear me?”

“But you tried your hardest until the very end, didn’t you?” When he doesn’t answer, I repeat myself. “_Didn__’t you? _If I know you like I think I know you, you never would’ve given up. You would’ve kept trying to pass and to shoot until the very end. No matter if the other team is a hundred points ahead — you’d keep trying. Isn’t that right, Ogiwara Shigehiro?”

He looks slightly pale at my words. Finally, he whispers, “Even if I was the ace, what could I do?”

“I’m not saying you have to be the ace or that you even have to think about. For one, I don’t recommend challenging Akashi for his position unless you have a death wish. But . . . it’s not about what you can do, but what you can hope to accomplish. And for someone like you, that’s an awful lot.”

He’s quiet for a few moments. Then a man approaches us — the kendō sensei, I’m guessing. “Ogiwara-kun, you want to get ready?”

Ogiwara glances at me, a strange look on his face, then he stands up and nods at the man. “I’ll be back,” he says to me.

I watch the other students practice while I wait for him. A buzz of excitement rises in me. I’ve taken some self-defense classes before, even some karate in the States, but the atmosphere there is totally different than here. The karate teacher couldn’t even pronounce the Japanese words right.

But in this room, there’s a calm air — even though people are crossing swords, the actions seem peaceful and controlled.

Ogiwara returns a few minutes later, his helmet under one arm. He turns to smile at me, then lifts the helmet over his head and accepts a wooden sword from a classmate.

He faces the teacher, and the two begin to perform a series of _kata_. His movements are smooth and powerful, and it’s clear he knows what he’s doing. I watch, entranced, and every time one of them shouts, I almost jump. The shouts — the _kiai_, if I remember correctly — are filled with such passion that they ring through my heart.

Ogiwara and the teacher finish the kata. Then, he does a few bouts with other students. He beats more than half of them, each time he does followed by loud applause, mostly by me.

Finally, he’s done. The other students resume their normal practice while he removes his helmet. I can see the sweat pouring down his face, and I can’t say it’s unattractive. His gaze finds mine, and I grin, holding up a hand.

A few minutes later, he rejoins me, back in his school uniform, his hair damp from being rinsed.

“You were great!” I say, standing up to meet him.

He smiles shyly. “Thanks. Actually . . . I’m probably better at kendō than I am basketball. After years of Grandpa drilling techniques into me.” He looks uncomfortable when he says this, like I’ll get onto him or something.

I cock my head. “But you enjoy basketball more.” It’s not a question.

He nods. “Kendō is fun, but it’s more of an individual sport. I like the teamwork aspect of basketball better.”

We both frown at his words, remembering the current situation with the team.

“Don’t worry,” I say. “I’m sure things’ll work out in the end.”

His frown disappears, replaced with surprise. “What’s this? Are you reassuring me?”

I scowl. “You better not get used to it.” He laughs, then he tugs on my arm and we leave the dōjō. I know, without him saying, where we’re going next.


	21. Mitsuri

The Inter-High preliminaries pass quickly without much challenge. Of course, that’s to be expected. Other than last year, it’s been years since Rakuzan ever had any real trouble. They don’t call us the Emperors of Creation for nothing.

Despite the team’s recent discord, we manage to secure our place in the finals without much issue. I had convinced Akashi not to quit for now, but I can still see the weight of his father’s expectations bearing down on him. Every now and then, though, he will look at me, with a contemplative gaze on his face. I’ll meet his eyes, nod, and smile. Just that small movement seems to uplift him, and he’ll return to practice with renewed vigor.

Summer break begins, and the team gets a small rest before the finals start. For me, the change in routine is startling. I’d gotten so used to seeing the basketball club — and Akashi — nearly every day that now, without them, I don’t know what to do. Reiha still goes out every day with a ball in her hand, and I wonder if she’s still meeting Ogiwara at the outdoor court, something she’d finally confessed to doing.

I spend my time around the house. I write another email to Mom, since Reiha seems intent on ignoring them, clean with Grandma, or watch movies with Grandpa. I’m glad to have the extra time to spend with them, since lately I’ve been feeling guilty. In the past, I had plenty of time during the evenings to hang out with them. But with the addition of the basketball club, plus increased homework as a second-year, my spare time has mostly been going to catch up on sleep.

I know my grandparents don’t mind, but I’m glad to relax with them.

But still, there’s a niggling in the corner of my mind. Something that makes me twitch, like an itch beneath my skin.

Finally, I can’t stand it anymore.

I leave the house, with an excuse about getting some sun and — I find myself at Akashi’s once again. Although the place is huge and totally different than what I’m used to, I find myself becoming increasingly comfortable there. It’s because of Akashi, I’m sure. Wherever he is . . . well, I like being there.

Although it was slight at first, I can’t deny my feelings for Akashi anymore. Especially after that semi-confession. Everything about him — his elegant manner, his passion for the team, even the insecurity he tries to hide. I find myself wanting to know more and more about him, and an hour rarely goes by where I don’t think about him.

Of course, then comes the question: does he feel the same about me? I’d like to think so. While he’s nice to everyone, it’s only me he walks home with. It’s only me he’s told about his father. It’s only me at his house today.

Yet . . . this kind of heady feeling . . . is that love? It’s something I’ve always avoided, so I can’t tell from experience. But if this is what loves feels like . . . maybe it’s not so bad.

There’s a smile on my face as I knock on his door. When I’d first left the house, with nothing more than a whim in my head, I realized I should probably give him a warning. Although we’d exchanged numbers as soon as I joined the team as manager, recently, we’ve been texting about more than just business.

He nearly always answers promptly, with perfect grammar, too, of course, so when a few minutes passed, I started to worry. It was such short notice — of course he’d be busy.

But then he’d replied, and though I couldn’t read his emotions through the text, when I see him now, my grin widens. He has a smile on his face as well, and I’m suddenly glad I came. Is he as happy to see me as I am him?

“Hey,” I say.

“Hi.” There’s a light in his eyes, one I feel like I haven’t seen in a while. “I thought . . . it’s a nice day out. Would you like to go riding with me?”

I’m taken aback for a moment. Then I remember he’s mentioned a horse before. “Yes,” I say, before I can really think about it. “I’d love to — I mean, I don’t really know how, but . . .”

“You can ride with me, then,” he says. Is it just me or is there a pleased look on his face as he says this, like this was his plan along?

Well, I don’t really mind getting caught up in his trap.

He leads me away from the mansion to a smaller building, which I assume to be the stables. He walks to the place with an ease that only comes with being intensely familiar with the area. He opens the door for me, and I immediately like the atmosphere. The smell, not one you’d typically find in the city, and light streaming through the rafters, the feel of hay under my feet.

“This is the tack room,” he says, opening a door to the side. “It’s where we keep the equipment and feed. I think . . .”

I stand near the entrance of the room as he rummages through some boxes in the back. After a moment, he turns around with a pair of riding boots in his hand.

“These were my mom’s,” he says. “They’ll probably fit you.”

“A-are you sure?” I eye them, hesitant.

He nods, firm. “Yeah. Here. Sit.”

I sit in the chair he motions to, and he crouches down before me. “They can be a little tough to get on at first,” he says. He slips off my left shoe, and I feel my cheeks redden as his fingers touch my foot (even though I have socks on). The boots have laces on the back, which he undoes one by one, before slipping the shoe onto my foot.

It fits perfectly.

I feel like the Cinderella from Reiha’s play.

He looks up at me, a smile on his face. “That feel okay?” He pokes my big toe in the shoe. “It looks like it fits.”

“Yeah,” I say, my face now bright red.

“Good,” he says. He laces it up and then begins with the other shoe.

I like the feel of his fingers. I almost wish he’d give me a foot massage, though I don’t think we’re quite at that point yet.

After he’s done, I stand up and admire the shoes. “They feel great,” I say.

“Good. Let’s go get Yukimaru ready.”

Yukimaru. His horse. I remember him telling me she’s pure white and was born around the time he was. From his tone, he seems very fond of her.

Yukimaru is one of three horses in the stables, with her stall being on the far right. She nickers happily when she sees Akashi. He spends a few moments rubbing her nose and whispering to her, then he leads her out to meet me.

“Hey,” I say softly. I reach forward, then hesitate, casting a glance toward Akashi.

“It’s fine,” he says.

Her muzzle is soft and wet against my hand, tickling my palm. I let out a laugh. We’ve never had animals, but now, I’m almost wishing we did.

Akashi slips the bridle over her head, which she accepts easily. Then he lets me hold the reins while he walks me through the rest of the process of getting her saddled.

Finally, he declares us ready. “I’ll help you out,” he says.

I hesitate. I’m really going to ride with Akashi? I’m not sure I’ve ever been so physically close to him before. But I guess this is the next step after hand-holding.

Moving toward the stirrups, Akashi instructs me to place my hands on Yukimaru’s back, one foot in the stirrup — and the other in his hand. I feel bad, like I’m stepping on him, but he pushes me up into the saddle with no problem at all.

“It’s so high,” I gasp. I barely have time to get used to the new sensation before Akashi’s lifted himself behind me.

His chest presses up against my back, unrealistically warm, and he reaches his hands around me to hold the reins.

He must be able to feel the heat emanating from me now.

I grab the horn of the saddle as Akashi spurns Yukimaru. He starts easy, just a walk. Once Yukimaru takes us out of the stables, he lets her go faster, all the while telling me about the different gaits of horses, as well as stories about him and Yukimaru.

I can barely concentrate on them. _He’s so close. _

“Do you want to try a bit faster?” he asks me, after we’ve spent about ten minutes just wandering around his house.

I nod, though I’m scared to death.

“Don’t worry,” he says, and just like magic, his soothing voice begins to clear up any doubts I have. “I won’t let you fall.”

Then he nudges Yukimaru and she jumps into a canter. I let out an involuntary shriek, but then I remember Akashi’s arms around me — and we’re flying.

My cry of alarm turns into a laugh of delight. The rolling green hills stream past us, blurring into the background, and all I can feel is the wind in my hair, the strength of Yukimaru’s legs moving beneath me, and Akashi’s gentle touch as he steers her.

We spend more than an hour on Yukimaru, slowing, sometimes stopping, then breaking into a run again. I learn more about his childhood, how much he loved his mom, and the unrealistic expectations his father places on him. In turn, I tell him about my first experience in a place that wasn’t Japan, my relationship with my grandparents, and childhood stories with Reiha.

The sun starts to set all too soon. Akashi looks up at the sky, realizing at the same time.

“Do you need to go home?” he asks.

I usually have dinner with my grandparents, but . . . “No,” I say.

“Then stay for dinner,” he says. I’m about to accept when he adds, “My dad isn’t here tonight.”

The stables are in view now. I frown and wish I could turn around to face Akashi. “You . . . are you scared of your dad?”

He stiffens behind me, and I regret the question. It’s not my business — Akashi’s already told me more than enough.

“I’m sorry —” I start.

“No, you’re right.” I fall quiet at the sound of his voice. I wait for him to say more, but he just directs Yukimaru back into the stables before fluidly dismounting.

The absence of his warmth feels stark.

I take his outreached hand and begin to dismount — but my left foot gets stuck in the stirrup, and —

I feel arms around me, then Akashi is lifting me and placing me on the ground.

“Careful,” he says, his voice no more than a whisper. His arms are still around me, and when I try to look up at him, he buries his face onto my shoulder.

“You’re right,” he breathes out. “I am scared . . . of my father. I’m scared he’ll make me quit the basketball club. But more than that, I’m scared he’ll stop me from seeing you.”

Shock fills me at his confession. So are his feelings really . . . ?

“Mitsuri.” He lifts his head to look me straight in the eyes. It’s the first time he’s said my name.

I tilt my head and say, “Seijūrō.”

A corner of his mouth lifts. “Thank you for being with me. Please stay.”

I’m not sure if he’s referring to dinner or . . . more?

Whichever it is, I accept.


	22. Mitsuri

The finals for the Inter-High are today — and we’re facing Kaijō.

Everyone was a little surprised that it was Kaijō that was standing before us. Previously, we’d thought that Teik and Tōō were the biggest threats. However, Teikō, with the loss of its Uncrowned King Kiyoshi Teppei has taken a serious hit in power. They were taken out shortly after the preliminaries. After hearing the news, Akashi looked both conflicted and relieved. On one hand, he wouldn’t have to face the team that beat him last year and risk losing again — but on the other hand, he _wouldn__’t be able to play them_. It was a strange thing.

Tōō advanced to the quarter-finals, but was taken out by Kaijō — from what I’d heard, it was a revenge match. Tōō had beaten Kaijō in the previous Inter-High, and Kise Ryōta, the ace, wasn’t going to let that happen a second time. There was a fire in his eyes, and even I felt the energy, up in the stands. Akashi remarked on how much he’d improved in the last year, despite his injury that had set him back for a few months. You could hear barely concealed pride in his voice.

On our side, we faced Yōsen, and won, obviously. Murasakibara had a fearsome defense, but even he wasn’t enough for Rakuzan’s well-rounded stats.

Which left us to face Kaijō. Kaijō had also lost some of its power, due to the retirement of its third-years. However, they were far from weak: there was the current captain Hayakawa, with his high energy and unrivaled ability with rebounds, and the talented shooting guard Nakamura, whose cool-headedness balanced out the team. Two other second-years, who’d most likely been bench-warmers in the previous year, had joined and shown off their flexibility and hard work. And then, of course, there was Kise Ryōta.

Akashi looked pleased to be able to face him. According to him, he hadn’t played many of his former teammates in official matches, and this was a great opportunity to see how much Kise had grown.

Experiencing a basketball game from the stands is a whole different experience than being on the court — and seeing it all first-hand for yourself. The preliminaries didn’t have nearly the same feel as the finals — whereas those matches only had family or friends dotting the stands, today, the seats are nearly full. I can feel the excitement of the crowd reaching me, making me shake, even though I’m not the one playing.

We’d arrived early, of course, but the crowd seems just as impatient as we are. The best seats have already been scouted, and they’re filling more and more quickly.

Reiha and I escort the team to our designated locker room, then wait in the court for them to get changed. Kaijō has just finished their warm-ups and are leaving, casting us curious and sometimes intimidating gazes as they went.

“I know I’m not the one who should be nervous,” Reiha mutters, sitting down next to me on the bench, “but, honestly, I am.”

I let a small smile onto my face. Before, Reiha probably wouldn’t have admitted that. “I know,” I say.

As the team returns from the locker rooms to warm up, I know I should be watching all of them, but my gaze is continually drawn to Akashi. He isn’t racing around as much as Hayama or as pumped as Nebuya, but he’s already acquired the sheen of sweat that shows he’s not slacking off. He passes to Mibuchi, who leaps into a graceful arc. The ball lands silently through the basket, and Ogiwara catches it before it rolls away.

Speaking of Ogiwara . . . I glance toward Reiha, and she seems just as enraptured as I am.

I almost feel bad for Hayama, Nebuya, and Mibuchi.

But I can’t keep my eyes off of him.

He catches me watching and smiles, that kind of Akashi smile that’s soft and gentle, yet confident and charming. It’s not Hayama’s bright and cheerful grin or Mibuchi’s charismatic smile or even Ogiwara’s cute and boyish look.

My heart speeds up, and I smile and wave back. Reiha lets out a shout of encouragement, nearly causing Ogiwara to trip. We look at each other and laugh.

Four months ago, I would never have imagined this happening.

* * *

After warm-ups, we retreat back to the lockers to wait. Reiha and I pass out their jackets to keep their bodies warm. We’d also made honey-soaked lemons, but we decide to save those later for the break. The rest of Rakuzan passes out water bottles and words of encouragement.

“Well, Mitsuri.” Reiha gestures toward the team. “Do you want to give a pep talk?”

For a moment, I’m taken aback. “Me?”

Although I know it’s something that managers sometimes do, it’s mostly been Akashi who’s been getting the team’s spirits up.

“Yeah, yeah!” Hayama pumps his first in the air. “Let’s hear the Kasayama twins!

“I’m sure that if you cheer us on, there’s no way we’d lose,” Mibuchi says.

“Yeah. MUSCLE SPEECH!”

I’m still flabbergasted, especially by Akashi’s amused yet fond look as he gazes at his teammates’ antics.

“Well, um —” I usually consider myself a good public speaker, but never when it’s on the spot. Somehow, though, I manage to gather my thoughts together into something coherent. I think of my thought just moments ago, and words begin to form inside me. “A year ago, I never would’ve imagined myself here. I’ve never been interested in sports and I never saw myself as a leader. But somehow, I’ve become the captain of the debate team as well as the co-manager of the basketball team. And . . . it’s been a great experience. I wish I’d joined you last year, so that I could’ve spent more time with you all and cheered you on.”

I bend my head. “As much as my job is to help you, I want you to know that you’ve helped me just as much. Please continue to take care of me!”

There’s a smattering of applause as well as whistles and whoots. My cheeks burn.

“Ack.” Reiha steps up beside me. “I guess it’s my turn now?” Even though her words sound reluctant, her eyes shine. I take a step back to allow her the spotlight.

“I guess I’m kind of with Mitsuri,” she starts. “I, too, never would’ve thought I’d be in some kind of leadership position or part of a sports team. I always thought that Mitsuri was the responsible one, but here I am. Managing a whole team of rowdy boys. I never knew being in a position of responsibility would be so much fun.” There are some laughs. She smiles. “Well, I’d just like to say thanks. And — go out there and win tonight!”

Her small speech garners the same response mine did, and for a moment, she looks almost embarrassed. Only a few minutes are left till the start of the game, and the energy in the room is palpable. Within minutes, I’ll get to sit out on court and watch as my players do their best. Within minutes, I’ll be able to watch the culmination of all of our hard work — and I can’t wait.

* * *

The game ends about as expected — we win, 98-90. For Rakuzan, it was a close match, and I’m sure it’s only because of Kaijō’s hard work this past year. If we’d played them last year, the whole game would have been very different.

Although Akashi has never mentioned it outright, he’s hinted about the changes that have occurred to him in the last year. How the dominating atmosphere of his middle school team pressured him. How he and his teammates separated as rivals. How he beat his best friend, Midorima Shintarō, but in turn, admitted loss to Seirin.

I can tell, even without him telling me, that last year was a dark place for him, littered with the expectations of the impressive Rakuzan team and his duty to uphold the family name. Those pressures are still present now, especially from his father.

But still, the defeat of last winter has changed him, and even if I didn’t know him back then, even I can see the difference in his aura. I remember walking past him, my first year at Rakuzan, and being intimidated, even though we were about the same height. This year, when he first talked to me, I was surprised by how approachable he had become.

Sure, there are times when he relapses into that darkness, those times that sew discord within the team. But tonight is not one of those times. He is happy, happy to have won by his own merit and his teammates’ abilities. It’s clear by the way he smiles when Hayama tackles him or how he congratulates Kise on his hard work.

His smile makes me smile.

The game was much more intense, being the final, and although everyone looks tired, they look invigorated as well. It’s the kind of energy that you can only get from doing something you love.

As the crowds disperse, we retreat back into our locker room. Akashi gives a brief congratulatory speech to which everyone cheers. Then, after showers and the replenishing of liquids, we make our way to the school bus.

Reiha and Ogiwara chat about the highlights of the game as they load onto the bus, interrupted by Nebuya bragging or Mibuchi pointing out a correction. Akashi, to my surprise, sits next to me. Usually, he sits by Mibuchi, but Hayama stole that spot.

My cheeks warm as he sits. While we aren’t as close as we were while riding Yukimaru, the bus is still cramped. Still, I don’t mind. He smells fresh from the shower, even though the rest of the bus still holds the evidence of carting sweaty boys.

“Congrats,” I say. It’s the first time I’ve said it personally to him.

He nods in acceptance. “Did you enjoy the game?”

“Of course! It was amazing. I never know basketball could be so fun to watch.”

He lets out a small laugh. “I’m glad to hear that.”

He’s always considerate of others’ opinions, so asking isn’t that out of character. But then I wonder if maybe . . . if maybe he’s worried that I wouldn’t like the game. If maybe he’s more concerned about how I view him than anyone else.

The thought warms me. Akashi knows I would never lie to him, and yet he still seeks my honesty, even if it might be negative.

I lean in a little closer to him, until our faces are only a few inches away. Everyone else is too busy reminiscing about the game or catching some sleep to notice.

“I think you were amazing,” I say. “I love watching you play.”

A smile lights up his face — and it’s the kind that makes me want to kiss him.


	23. Reiha

“A test of courage?” I wrinkle my brow. “Tonight?”

“Yes,” a girl from my class (forgot her name) says, before I can escape to the gym. “We’re short on people, so if you’d please come, Kasayama-san, that’d be great.”

“Ehh, no thanks.”

The girl looks crestfallen, and I figure I better get out of there before she tries to bribe me. We’ve barely gotten back into school, and homework is already piling up. But before I can move, a hand falls onto my shoulder, and Ogiwara’s voice says, “Why not, Reiha? Sounds like fun. I’ll do it, too, Higashi-san.”

Oh. So that was her name. But wait, did Ogiwara really just volunteer us?

“Great!” Higashi says, all smiles now. “I’ll sign you two up as a pair. Here’s the time and location . . .”

Wait. A pair? Thank goodness she didn’t say couple, though.

“Oi, oi,” I hiss at Ogiwara as we walk away. “What was all that about?”

He grins at me. “C’mon, Reiha, don’t you like doing a good ol’ test of courage? I thought you liked thrills.”

“Roller coasters, maybe.”

“There’s nothing wrong with hanging out with your classmates on a haunted summer night.”

“Well . . .”

I can’t argue with him, but I was looking forward to a break tonight. Even though summer break only ended last week, the routine of school has taken over my life again. Every day I don’t have drama club, I’m at the basketball club, then sometimes I’ll play with Ogiwara after that. Most of my free time has been spent running lines. I’ve finally memorized all my parts, so I was going to treat myself tonight with some of the carb-heavy snacks I brought with me. Even I need some time to myself.

But I guess that’s not happening anymore.

We reach the gym, and Ogiwara and I part ways. After I talked with Ogiwara in the dōjō, the coherency between the regulars has smoothed over. Ogiwara has been making a better effort of talking with Akashi, Nebuya, Hayama, and Mibuchi, and it seems like they’re reciprocating, if a bit surprised. Akashi, too, seems to have changed a bit. I don’t know what Mitsuri did, but as she’s smiling more lately, I assumed she had a nice little meeting with him.

The events of Inter-High helped a lot, too, because the team is more determined than ever. Ogiwara, in particular, has taken the victory to heart and pumped himself up. While he’s sad that he wasn’t able to face Kuroko, he’s optimistic about having another chance.

Practice goes by quickly, and when Mitsuri arrives, I’m able to give her a good report. As I’m about to leave the gym, though, Ogiwara runs into me — literally. He careens into my side, but before the two of us can sprawl to the ground, he wraps his arms around me and pulls me back upright.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I ask him indignantly. I’m all too aware of his arm around me.

“Sorry,” he says, finally releasing me. “I just knew I had to catch up with you before you disappeared.”

“And why is that?”

“Well, I thought we might hang out a bit since we’re going to the same place tonight anyway.”

Oh. Right. The test of courage. I’d forgotten all about that.

“Fine,” I grumble. “I was going to go home and relax, but I guess I’ll survive hanging out with you.”

“You don’t have to word it like that, you know.”

And so we head off.

* * *

Several hours later, once darkness has fallen, we make our way to the location Higashi gave us earlier.

It’s an old, abandoned-looking building. Probably a place that fell apart due to poor construction and foundation. But I have to admit, with the cloudy skies and slivered moon poking through, the place does create a nice, creepy atmosphere.

I grin to myself, and when Ogiwara jumps at a noise from the surrounding forest, I let out a cackle. He scowls.

“All right!” Higashi shouts above the murmuring of the gathered students. “Is everybody here? I think so . . . okay, let’s start!” She starts counting us off in pairs and sending us off two by two. Eventually, Ogiwara and I are the last ones left.

“Okay,” Higashi says, checking her watch. “Kasayama-san and Ogiwara-kun, you can go on in now. Remember, there’ll be a marked path, and when you reach the end, bring back a ribbon to prove that you made it all the way.”

Nodding, Ogiwara smiles at me and leads the way into the house.

It’s dark inside, without the light of the moon. The floors creak underneath us, and above, spiderwebs threaten to fall onto our heads. Typical haunted house setting.

“It’s been a while since I’ve done one of these,” Ogiwara whispers.

I’m not quite sure why he’s whispering, but I whisper back anyway. “Yeah, me too.”

“Uh, so which way? Oh, there’s the marker.”

We turn at the little white flag and head up some stairs. A shadow darts in the corner of my vision, and I turn my head to try and get a better look, but see nothing. Only more shadows, none of them moving.

The stairs seem to last longer than I’d anticipated, but eventually we reach the top floor. The floorboards are even squeakier. But maybe, if they were completely silent, that would be creepier.

“This . . . isn’t that scary,” Ogiwara says after a few minutes.

“Yeah.”

“Is that supposed to be blood?”

“Probably.”

“Do you smell something weird?”

“Nah.”

“Do you think we might see some dead bodies?”

“That would be kinda cool, wouldn’t it?”

“Morbid, though.”

And then, Ogiwara is gone.

I turn around, feeling the space around me. My eyes have gotten more adjusted to the dark, but it still seems so . . . black. All around. “Shige?” I say. My voice comes out as a hoarse whisper.

No answer.

I wasn’t scared. Having him with me negated any possible effect that place might’ve had on me . . . but now that I’m alone . . .

I realize that the floor has stopped creaking. I didn’t even hear him disappear. There is also no dust — anywhere. It’s like someone has been here recently, which isn’t something that I would expect of this place. Even if you did have a bunch of students traipsing through for a test of courage, I would still expect _dust _— just our footprints marking our paths.

I move to the nearest door and open it. It makes no sound. “Shige?” I say again.

The room is empty, no furniture or anything, just a closet in the corner.

The closet door is cracked open.

I stiffen. I always hated closets. As stupid as it was, I was that one kid who was scared of the monsters in the closet and under the bed. Mitsuri used to climb into bed with me to “ward off the nightmares,” but . . . Mitsuri isn’t here right now.

I step away from the room, not daring enough to approach the closet, but just as I’m about to snap the door shut, a force from the other side pulls on it, keeping the door open.

I shriek, let go of the door handle, and start running away from the room.

But then something wraps around me, and I fall to the ground, a heavy pressure on me — I feel like I’m being swallowed up by . . . cloth?

Then there’s laughing.

Untangling myself from a white sheet, I sit up and glare at Ogiwara.

“What in the world do you think you’re doing?” I yell.

“C’mon, it was funny!” he says.

“Was not.”

“Was too.”

“What is this even?” I ask, wrinkling my nose at the white sheet. It smells like mold.

“I found it in the closet,” he says.

“Were you _trying _to freak me out half to death?”

“Yeah. I mean, you hardly seemed bothered by anything, so I wanted to give you a nice scare. So you could remember tonight.”

“I don’t need to raise my pulse by a hundred beats to remember something.”

“But it worked, didn’t it?” He scoots closer to me, moving the sheet away. “You were scared, weren’t you?”

I wince, but confess anyway. “Yeah, I was.”

“I was worried that you might just leave me, but you actually came looking for me, didn’t you?”

“You idiot.”

“Huh?”

Sometimes, he seems really observant and smart. But at other times, he is so, so ignorant.

“The only reason I wasn’t scared is because you were with me,” I grumble.

His eyes widen. I can’t completely see his expression in the dark, but I imagine he’s blushing.

“Do I make that much of a difference?” he asks.

I throw the sheet into his face. He laughs again. Then, standing up, he holds out a hand toward me.

“We should get going, don’t you think? Everyone’s probably wondering where we are, and I personally, would like to secure that ribbon.”

“Okay,” I say. “But don’t you dare leave me again. Okay?”

“I won’t. I promise.”

His words seem to carry a heavier weight than what I’d originally implied.

I glance up at him and take his hand.


	24. Mitsuri

Even though Akashi and I are growing closer, it still comes as a surprise when he calls me and asks if I’ll go to Tōkyō with him.

For a moment, I’m floored. But then he explains:

Recently, an American streetball team called Jabberwock came to Japan. They played a team of Japanese university players — one of whom was Higuchi Shōta, a former Rakuzan player — and had crushed them. They’d then proceeded to mock all Japanese basketball teams. Aida Kagetora, the man who was watching over Jabberwock and was also an occasional coach for Seirin, challenged the Americans to another game — this time, against the Generation of Miracles. Apparently, he’d staked his life on the match, something Akashi seemed impressed by.

Even with that brief background, I have no trouble accepting, and within an hour, I’m meeting Akashi at the train station.

I wave when I see his red hair, and my heart leaps in my chest. I still can’t get used to seeing him in casual clothes.

“Hello,” he greets me.

“Hey,” I say, a little breathless from my rush to get here (and, yes, maybe something else).

To my surprise, he’s already bought my ticket. I briefly protest, but he insists, since apparently, I’m doing him a favor. (Though, I might’ve accepted even if he said we were flying across the ocean.)

We climb aboard the train, and in the few hours that pass, he gives me more information. He fills me in on the research he’d done on Jabberwock, then he explains all his old teammates’ strengths and weaknesses (as well as their various idiosyncrasies), so I’ll be prepared.

I’ve excited to meet them. Despite having played Murasakibara and Kise, I never officially met them. And I know, from hearing Akashi talk about them, that they’re dear to him, in a way only teammates can be.

The train ride seems short, as does all my time with Akashi, and I’m almost disappointed that it’s over.

But then, we arrive.

I almost gasp from the intimidating aura that greets me when I step into the designated gym.

I had known that the Generation of Miracles are huge, and I’d seen Murasakibara and Kise’s power firsthand, but having them all together in the same room . . . is something entirely different.

I spot Kise first, from his bright yellow hair and the confident way he stands. “I suddenly got an email from Kurokocchi,” he says. “He must be up to something.”

Next is Aomine Daiki, with his dark skin and navy hair. He taps his foot against the ground. “You sure know how to pick ’em.”

“We can hardly just sit and do nothing,” Midorima Shintarō says. He adjusts his glasses with slender, taped fingers. In his hands he holds a kettle.

Murasakibara is also a familiar face. While I’d seen his vigor for the game in our last match, his current expression is one of boredom. “This is gonna be a pain,” he moans.

Akashi lets out a small chuckle at his teammates’ complaints. “But I’m looking forward to this,” he says. “I can hardly believe that once more, we will be fighting alongside one another on the same time.” He glances at me, a soft expression on his face that I’d only seen when he’d played Murasakibara and Kise. “Let me introduce you.”

I step up, though my legs are a little wobbly.

“Everyone, this is Kasayama Mitsuri,” Akashi says. “She’s the current manager of Rakuzan, along with her sister.”

For a moment, I wonder why Akashi didn’t ask Reiha to come. She’s much more well-versed in things basketball, plus she’s better at speaking English than I am.

But then a selfish, vain thought enters my head. Maybe Akashi didn’t ask Reiha . . . because he wanted it to be me.

How I hope that’s true.

“Oh! I remember you.” Kise’s smile is infectious. “Girl managers, huh? I guess it’s a good thing Kasamatsu-senpai’s not around.”

“Nice to meet you,” Midorima says, inclining his head.

“Yo,” Murasakibara and Aomine greet.

To the side are a few other people: first is an older man, whom I assume to be Aida Kagetora. Next to him are two other girls, something I’m immensely relived to see. I don’t know if I could’ve survived in this testosterone-filled air. One of the girls wears a light blue jacket that complements her pink hair and emphasizes her figure. The other has short brown hair and stands with her hands on her hips, like she’s ready for business.

“Good to finally meet you,” the man says. He glances at me, and he looks a little surprised to see me. I wonder if Akashi told him I was coming, though, knowing Akashi, he had to have. “I’m Aida Kagetora,” he says, mostly for my benefit, as it seems everyone else knows who he is. “This here is my daughter Riko” — he motions to the brown-haired girl, his stern expression immediately transforming into a proud beam — “and this is Tōō’s manager, Momoi Satsuki. She was also the previous manager of Teikō.”

Akashi had mentioned her on the way here. A sudden clutching feeling fills my chest . . . is this jealousy? Although I really have nothing to be jealous over — it’s not like Akashi and I are dating. But still, Momoi is beautiful.

(If Reiha was here, though, she’d say their hair would clash. That thought makes me feel slightly better.)

“Wait,” Kise says. “Is it just us? What about those two?”

“Ah. I called them too, of course,” Aida-san says.

“The two that beat all of us,” Akashi says, a smile still on his face. “Naturally.”

Just then, the squeak of shoes announces the presence of more —

“Hey.”

“Sorry for the wait.”

Everyone turns simultaneously to see the newcomers — two people, whom I know to be “those two.”

Kagami Taiga, with his outrageously red hair and towering figure, and Kuroko Tetsuya, who’s less noticeable than his companion, but still competent in his own way.

“It’s nice to see everyone again,” Kuroko says.

There’s a cry of “Tetsu-kuuuuun!” and a shape blurs past, straight into Kuroko.

I blink, confused for a moment, before realizing the shape had been Momoi.

“Satsuki,” Aomine sighs. “Do you have to do this every time?”

A smile spreads across my face before I know it. Even if Akashi was interested in Momoi (and I don’t think he is, as he’s never mentioned her as more than a teammate), she clearly has interests in someone else.

While the others enter into casual chatter, Akashi turns to Aida-san. “Are there any substitutes?” he asks.

Figures. Always thinking ahead.

The substitutes in question turn out to be Hyūga Junpei from Seirin, Takao Kazunari from Shūtoku, and Wakamatsu Kōsuke from Tōō. Takao’s easy-going attitude and Wakamatsu’s energy seem like good choices. Hyūga, on the other hand, seems to doubt his position.

It’s Akashi that notices, of course — “Don’t be so nervous,” he says amicably. “We welcome you here.” Judging by Hyūga’s reaction, he doesn’t seem too comforted. I laugh to myself.

“All right,” Aida-san says. Like his daughter, he looks impatient to start. “Everyone is here now. Let’s unite against Jabberwock. This is the team that will beat them in the revenge match one week from now. You probably won’t get this chance again. . . . You’re the absolute dream team right now.”

I can’t help but agree with him.

* * *

The next few hours pass in a blur. Watching the Generation of Miracles play is unlike anything I’d ever seen — ninety percent of the shots are made, a markable difference from the average. For Akashi and Midorima, they make one hundred percent easily.

Even though they’ve been enemies for the last year and a half, they still retain a sort of cohesion that could only come out of being teammates. Of course, there’s some tension — such as Kagami and Aomine, who are always trying to outdo each other. And then Midorima doesn’t even bother to hide his irritation with Murasakibara. But for just a few hours of practice, their progress is amazing. Leave it to the Generation of Miracles.

And then there’s Riko and Satsuki — both girls had insisted I call them by their first names. While everyone practiced, we observed their play styles and compared notes. Riko has an amazing ability to sum up each player’s physical talents in numerical stats, and Satsuki shows off her research in predicting how each player can maximize their abilities. I pale in comparison, but they seem to enjoy having another mind to bounce thoughts off.

“All right,” Aida-san finally calls with a blow of his whistle. “That’s enough for tonight.”

Satsuki and I scurry around to hand out towels and waters. It was one thing watching them play — standing right in front of them is an entirely different matter. Kise’s easy, of course. He seems to have more experience with girls and even makes me laugh. Midorima has a strange expression on his face when I hand him a towel and seems to be studying me rather intensely. I’m about to ask if there’s a problem, but he averts his gaze.

Confused, I walk over to Akashi (thankfully, Satsuki has taken care of the more intimidating ones).

“Thanks,” Akashi says, accepting a water and taking a long gulp. “How did you find the practice?”

Not many people can pull off being sweaty and attractive at the same time . . . but Akashi manages.

“It was amazing,” I say. “I mean, I’ve heard about you guys, but I never knew you were this good!”

He laughs, then with one finger, he touches my cheek. “You’re glowing,” he says.

Heat rushes from his touch. What does he mean? Before I can ask —

“Have any of you seen Tetsu?” Aomine glances around, as if Kuroko is just hiding behind someone.

Midorima, who still has a strange look on his face, answers. “I think he left with Kagetora-san. He might be following him.”

_What? _

A few minutes later, and we’re all racing to Roppongi. Riko, Satsuki, and I can’t keep up with trained athletes’ gait, so we quickly fall behind. Still, by the time we reach the place where Jabberwock is, we spot the rainbow array of hair that tells us we’ve gotten the right spot.

Satsuki gasps when she sees Kuroko on the ground, Kagami and Aomine hovering protectively over him. The Jabberwock team shares looks of irritation, anger, and disdain. They’re huge, and I gulp at their heights, which are greater than the Japanese average.

I move right behind Akashi, closer than I’d normally be, and he gives me a reassuring glance.

“Well? You want to fight?” One of the players — his name was Silver, if I remember correctly — sneers at us.

Akashi steps forward. “Stop,” he says, his voice demanding authority. Then, ignoring Silver’s look of outrage, he gazes down at Kuroko. “I understand. You want to settle this through basketball, right?”

“Yes.” Kuroko nods, his face serious. “Please.”

“There’s no point in fighting here,” Akashi says, already half turning. “Let’s go. We need to get Kuroko treated.”

While Kagami and Aomine still look angry, Aida-san signs in relief. The girls beside me also let loose the tension in their bodies. It’s not that any of us doubt the Generation of Miracles — but it’s clear from the aura around the Jabberwock that they’re not unfamiliar with exchanging dirty blows.

Like Akashi said, Kuroko is the priority right now. It will be much better to deal with this during the match.

However, Silver laughs. “Are you kidding me? You come and sprout your nonsense, then just turn around and leave? I guess you didn’t only lose your brains, but your guts as well — that’s why you’re monkeys!”

The others being to laugh at his taunts, but then —

Akashi, who turned his back, suddenly whips his gaze back to Jabberwock. I’m near the back, so I can’t see the exact look in his eyes — but I can feel a definite change in the air. Colder, sterner. Yet it doesn’t scare me. Instead, his strong voice covers me in a protective blanket.

“Shut up, you scum,” he says in perfectly accented English. “You guys should just be ready to lose. We’re going to mop the floor with you tomorrow.”

I struggle a moment to understand his words. Although I’m proficient in English, it’s never been a strong point — but I can get the gist of what he’s saying.

A grin widens my face.

That’s Akashi for you. Calm and logical in the face of an opponent — but still holding an unbeatable fire within him.

* * *

A week later — and the game is about to start.

This time, Reiha, Ogiwara, and many others from Rakuzan are with me. The news of the match had spread like wildfire, generating hordes of media bearing down on all the Generation of Miracles, and tickets selling out within a day. Although the match isn’t official, Aida-san and a few other coaches had managed to pull some strings. The universities that had recruited the Strky players were also chomping to get revenge and allowed us to use one of their indoor basketball courts.

I’d offered Reiha a place down on the bench with me, Satsuki, and Riko, but she’d refused. At first, I was confused, because it wasn’t like her to turn up a first-seat opportunity. But then I realized that she and Ogiwara had purchased tickets together.

Jabberwock is nowhere to be seen when we first enter the court for warm-ups. They’d just had theirs before ours, so I assume they’re back in their locker, waiting.

I smile to myself. Waiting. Yes, just you wait until you see what you’re up against —

Vorpal Swords.

It was Akashi who’d come up with the name. At first, none of us recognized the term Jabberwock, but he, of course, knew its origins. He then proposed the idea of naming our dream team after the weapon that had slayed the Jabberwock — there was unanimous agreement, and that was that. During this last week, while Riko and Aida-san created training regimens and hearty diets, Satsuki and I dealt with advertising. Upon hearing that I was good at drawing, I’d been recruited to create a label for Vorpal Swords. Many nights were spent staring at a blank piece of paper, Reiha laughing every time she passed my room, before — finally, I found what I wanted to create. I had laid a simple design of a sword in the background, then covered it with bold words the same hue as Akashi’s hair (which might have been bias on my part . . .).

Everyone had loved the designs, and Satsuki had dashed off to get them printed onto uniforms and signs and online — everywhere she could find.

The response was greater than any of us could’ve imagined.

The insult toward Japan’s basketball had inflamed its people, and even now, people were lining up outside, trying to get last-minute tickets. If I’d heard right, the concession stands were already running out of snacks.

While our team performs warm-ups, I glance up at the stands, which are nearly completely full. I think I spot Reiha and Ogiwara waving at me — and is that Hayama jumping up and down?

Even though I’ve seen the Generation of Miracles practice many times, it’s still amazing to see them play. Each perfect shot along with each smooth dribble and cohesive pass —I know Jabberwock is great, but I can’t imagine them beating us today.

Finally, our warm-up ends, and we retreat back into the locker rooms while the announcements sound overhead.

“This is exciting!” Kise whispers.

“Why are you whispering?” Aomine whispers back.

I hear Akashi sigh beside me, and I laugh.

Kuroko and Kagami stand near each other, each with an intense look on their eyes. Midorima fondles his lucky item of the day — a remote control — as if the more he touches it, the more it’ll imbue him with luck. Murasakibara is, of course, snacking, though Akashi had told him to stop just moments before.

The substitutes, Takao, Hyūga, and Wakamatsu, appear even more nervous. I hope, for all our sakes, that they aren’t needed out there today.

The speaker begins to introduce the two teams, to which roaring cheers reverberate. Everyone exchanges a look, then as one, we file out onto the court, which is shrouded in darkness, save for a few flashing probe lights.

I can barely see the large shadows of Jabberwock lining up as I make my way to the bench.

“The time for revenge is here!”

I snort. Even the emcee isn’t hiding his bias.

“VORPAL SWORDS — versus! — JABBERWOCK!”

The lights flood on, blinding me momentarily as cheers resound through the air. I barely have time to blink before —

“And now — tip-off!”

Murasakibara’s height sends him flying, and he bats the ball to Akashi’s waiting fingers. Akashi does a few smooth, beautiful dribbles, before he sends the ball to Aomine, who easily slams it through the hoop.

Yes! First point!

And just like that . . . the game begins.

* * *

We end the first quarter in the lead, 20-8. The cheers of the crowd rumble over the stadium, but with a look from Satsuki and Riko, I know we shouldn’t be celebrating too soon. Jabberwock hasn’t shown all their tricks yet. Even if we’re in the lead, our team has expended a larger amount of stamina than normal.

And we were right to be worried. The second quarter begins with Silver noticeably upping his game. Slowly, he steals from Akashi, breaks past Aomine, and even powers his way through Murasakibara’s block. His speed and strength are astounding, and ultimately, we’re forced to take a time-out, at 24-33.

As I look at Vorpal Swords, I think, _It’s too early for everyone to be disheartened. _Aida-san sees it, too, so he decides to switch out players. Our original start-up had been Akashi, Midorima, Aomine, Murasakibara, and Kise. He subs out Akashi and Midorima for Kagami and Kuroko, assigning Kise to now play as point guard.

But . . . Murasakibara isn’t too happy about the change.

“For a guy like that, I can do it myself,” he argues. His eyes blaze with his sentiment.

Akashi stands up. “Murasakibara. This is the Coach’s decision, so listen.”

While watching them practice this last week, I’d been able to pick out the hierarchy within the Generation of Miracles, small details that Akashi hadn’t told me. For one, Akashi is one of the only people Murasakibara will listen to. I mused out loud about this one day, and Satsuki had informed me of why this was.

Murasakibara once challenged Akashi — and he almost won, only to be soundly beaten at the last second.

Satsuki’s voice as she told the tale made me think there was something more to this story, but I hadn’t pressed. “It’s good enough that they’re friends again,” she’d said.

“By yourself, you can’t win,” Akashi says now.

Murasakibara looks outraged at the statement, but before he can protest, Akashi adds, “For now.” A silent conversation passes between them, something that I can’t even begin to decipher. “If you disagree, you can disobey me. But right now, the coach’s decision is the best. Besides, it’s either one person’s victory — or the whole team’s. Which is the most important to you? Didn’t you already experience this before?”

I think I sort of understand what Satsuki had meant now.

Akashi isn’t merely ordering Murasakibara to do his will — he’s giving him a choice, but also using his position as former leader of the Generation of Miracles to support Aida-san’s decision and point out how it’s the best we’ve got.

Murasakibara grumbles, but he sits back down again, taking an angry swig of water.

Akashi sighs, then sits beside me. The space on the benches are already limited, and his arm touches my own.

“Here,” I say, handing him a jacket to keep his body warm and another bottle of water.

“Thanks.” He smiles at me, but before long, both of our attentions are back on the game.

Kise has taken over playing point guard for Akashi due to his flexibility, and as we watch, Akashi muses about his technique. He offers suggestions every now and then, but mostly . . . he sounds proud. Yet as much as he’s been watching Kise, he’s also wary of Nash Gold Jr.

“He hasn’t done much yet,” I say.

“That’s exactly why I’m worried,” Akashi says. “Silver’s taken the spotlight right now, but I don’t think Nash will allow him to keep it for long.”

The rest of the second quarter goes by quickly, with Jabberwock in the lead by only four points. _Yes. We can do this. _

But once again, we underestimated the enemy. By the third quarter, both Nash and Silver are starting to show their full strengths, and even the combined power of the Generation of Miracles isn’t enough to handle their momentum.

“You were right,” I say. “He’s really upping his game.”

“At this rate . . .” Akashi leans forward, not finishing his sentence. His shoulders are tense.

At 42-61, Akashi gets switched in for Kuroko. Kuroko, whose stamina is the lowest of everyone’s, doesn’t look happy about it, though.

“There’s still something we can do,” Akashi says. “I may not be able to bring you all into the Zone yet, but if we can keep Nash and Silver in check, there’s a way we can still win. I’ll cover Nash. And Silver . . .”

Kuroko takes Akashi’s place next to me, his knee bouncing with energy.

“You did great out there,” I say.

He looks at me briefly. “Thank you.”

Over the last week, Kuroko’s the one that I’ve least talked to. It’s not that I find him unapproachable (though, maybe, I can’t find him in the first place). But he’s quiet, and I have a hard time coming up with things to say.

But, to my surprise, he continues. He says, “I trust Akashi.”

That’s all. Yet . . . I can feel the meaning within the words.

Kise and Aomine tag-team Silver, using the Zone and Perfect Copy respectively. Although these moves are almost deal breakers, we’d held off on using them because of the sheer amount of stamina they took. Kise’s Perfect Copy, in particular, has a huge drain on focus and energy when trying to copy. His imitation of Aomine is practically perfect — and when he uses Akashi’s ankle break, a move I’ve never seen anyone else even dare to perform, I have to keep my jaw from dropping.

And then — to add to the intensity, if possible — Kise manages to climb into the Zone and couple that power with his Perfect Copy. For the next few minutes, the court’s energy completely changes, and Kise’s strength wipes the floor.

But it’s too much, even for him. Eventually, his legs give out. Akashi helps him stand, but I can’t hear what they’re saying from where I sit, the crowd’s cheering too loud. Midorima stands to replace Kise, but he has a disconcerted look on his face — though not directed at me this time.

“This aura . . .” He blinks. “It can’t be . . .”

I’m about to ask him what he means, but he’s already walked off.

But I soon see what he was talking about.

Akashi stands to block Nash. I clutch my fingers together — this time, please.

But then — in a blink of an eye, the ball is flashing past Gold and is sent out of bounds.

“What?” The word escapes from me. “What just happened?”

Akashi stares at his fingers, and somehow I know it is him, yet I can’t get my mind to compute with what I just saw — or rather, what I didn’t see.

“The other Akashi,” Wakamatsu says. “He did say he might switch.”

What?

“It’s like I’m looking at another person,” Hyūga says.

What?

I look over at Akashi again, and this time, I can see it. He still looks the same, but the way he holds himself is slightly different — he’s always had a confident pose, but this is even further than that. . . . It’s the pose of someone who knows they’re . . . absolute.

It’s similar to what I saw that one day.

Kise leans forward, with a grin on his face. “But right now, Akashicchi’s the most reliable one on the team!”

“What do you mean?” I ask Kise.

Kise, the most amiable one out of the group, readily answers. “He’s going to use Emperor Eye!”

I’m still having trouble following. Sensing my unease, Satsuki touches my arm. “Maybe you should talk to him about it later,” she says.

She’s right. We’re in the middle of the game now. I need to concentrate.

At 62-72, we take another time-out.

The team gathers around, and Riko, Satsuki, and I rush to hand out towels and waters. I’m the first to reach Akashi, but I hesitate. He’s looking at me strangely. Not the familiar, warm gaze I’m used to . . . but something with curiosity and intrigue.

“It’s okay,” he says after a moment, reaching to take a water bottle. “I know how he feels about you. I feel the same, after all.”

My brow furrows. Who?

While I’ve resolved myself to talking with him about this later, curiosity still burns within me.

After everyone’s gulped down some water, they return to talking about their next strategy.

“There’s still something we can do,” Akashi says. Even his voice almost sounds different. Deeper, more commanding. “We will catch up with three-pointers. But this will be a gamble. Do you trust me, Shintarō?”

Midorima allows a rare smile on his face. “I see. But you underestimate me. I always perform my best, and today is no different. My shots will not miss.”

The time-out ends.

“We need those threes,” Hyūga says. “But how on earth . . . ?”

Takao leans forward then, rubbing his neck. “I get it. Uhh, I don’t know how to feel about it, but in order to win, it’ll work, of course. . . . Although if it really works, I’ll be kinda annoyed.”

Beside me, Satsuki gasps in understanding and leans in to explain what Takao’s referring to.

For a moment, I wonder if Akashi can really pull that off . . . but who am I kidding? This is Akashi we’re talking about, and although Takao and Midorima are great partners, Midorima is one of the few people Akashi counts as a friend.

The ball soars through the air into Midorima’s waiting hands and —

“Give me a break,” Takao says. “That was perfect.”

But at only three points behind, Nash Gold Jr. reveals his ability.

The same eye as Akashi’s . . . but not. Different — and maybe even more powerful.

The intense exchanges on court continue, and it’s getting increasingly difficult to study each move, they happen so fast. But Akashi isn’t about to give up just because of Nash’s revelation. In fact, he seems incensed, showing off streetball moves just like that of the opposing team. Seeing him move in that fluid style, opposed to his usual orthodox way, is incredible.

But Nash, it seems, is just too strong, using Akashi’s own ankle break against him.

It’s the first time I’ve ever seen Akashi fall.

He almost looks like a child when towering Murasakibara helps him up. But something about seeing Akashi fall seems to fire Murasakibara up — well, as much as he can get fired up. After declaring he’ll work both offense and defense, Murasakibara ties his hair up, a whole new aura surrounding him.

He fights hard. His overwhelming strength even causes Silver to second-guess, and if he’d been able to continue, we might’ve seen the end closer in sight — but somehow, Murasakibara ends up falling wrong, crushing his wrist.

It was undoubtedly the work of Jabberwock . . . but nothing can be done. Judging by the furious look Kuroko’s face as well as the rest of the team, Jabberwock’s actions won’t be forgiven.

Using his misdirection and his Phantom Shoot, Kuroko manages to regain us some points. But it’s still not enough. With less than a minute left, and four points behind . . .

“It’s happening again,” Kise mutters.

I glance at him. “What do you mean?”

“Akashi.” He doesn’t say any more, just nods in Akashi’s direction.

I realize he’s right. There’s something different about him again, something I can’t quite put my finger on — and finally, I realize, he’s combining both his Emperor Eye with his natural ability to perform perfect passes. And the way he moves . . . it’s the way I recognize again.

Still, still — ten seconds left. Jabberwock decides to just stall till the end, passing the ball back and forth between themselves. But they forgot a critical piece — or rather, player.

Kuroko darts from behind, shooting the ball from Nash’s grip — and straight into Aomine and Kagami’s waiting hands.

The both of them, their eyes ignited by the Zone, slam it into the basket.

“Time’s up!”

_“Vorpal Swords wins!” _

The cheers that follow could rival any of the previous sounds.

* * *

While Vorpal Swords is using the showers, I dart out of the locker rooms to find a bathroom. Stragglers still fill the halls, too excited to go home. It’s as I pass them that I catch sight of someone who looks familiar —

“Mayuzumi-san?”

The name slips out before I realize it.

The boy turns at the sound of his name, a confused expression on his face. He catches sight of me staring and asks, “Who are you?”

“Oh! Sorry,” I say. “I’m here with Vorpal Swords . . . and I manage Rakuzan as well.”

I’d only recognized him because once, I had been curious to see who had played power forward before Ogiwara. Reiha and I had sifted through the photos of last year and seen Mayuzumi with the rest of the team. I had asked Akashi about him, since I’d never heard anyone talk about him, and a strange look had come across his face. In the end, he didn’t tell me much, other than that he hoped Mayuzumi was doing well.

At the mention of Rakuzan, Mayuzumi scowls. In contrast to his expression, he says, “Good for you, I guess.”

He turns to leave, but I hurry after him. “Wait!”

“What?” Judging by the annoyed look on his face, I should just let him go, but for some reason, I keep talking.

“You used to play with Akashi-kun, right? Did you . . . did you know him well?”

He snorts. “As well as anyone knows him.”

“What do you mean?” I keep my voice careful, even.

At my tone of voice, Mayuzumi gives me a closer look. “Are you interested in him?” he asks.

My face reddens. But he’s not wrong.

“It’s not like that,” I blurt out. “I mean — I do like him. But . . .”

“Do you know about him?” he asks.

Despite the vagueness of his question, I understand immediately. Know about him. Know about _him_.

“Yes,” I say after a moment. “But . . . only after tonight.”

He nods. “Well, that’s fine, I guess. If you know that and still want to be with him . . .” He shrugs.

“But what happened tonight,” I continue. “It’s happened before, right?”

“Look, I don’t know all about it, okay? I just know that when I first joined this team, he was like a drill sergeant. No room for failure. But then last winter . . .” He pauses. “Well, something changed.”

I think back to when I’d see him in the hallways at school. That’s right, that time when the “change” had happened . . . would have been winter. During the final of Winter Cup, when he’d faced Kuroko.

“You came tonight, though,” I say.

He stares at me. “What?”

“You came tonight because you wanted to know how he was, right? You were his senpai, after all.”

He snorts again. “Not that they ever treated me like it.”

“What do you think?” I press. “Does he seem better now?”

For a moment, Mayuzumi just looks at me. I can’t read his expression, much like I find it hard to read Kuroko’s. Finally, he speaks. “Are you what changed him?”

It’s my turn to be confused. “What?”

“I spent a whole year with him,” he said. “I saw girls come and go, each one hoping to get close to him, and each one running away in tears. But . . . you’re not like them, are you?”

Of course, before I liked to think myself apart from the Akashi fangirls. But now that I’ve gotten to know Akashi, I can’t really blame them. If I’d paid closer attention to him before, I might’ve even fallen into their group. But it’s true that, somehow, I’ve gotten closer to Akashi than any other girl. And it’s true that I think he likes me, as much as I like him. So I answer Mayuzumi honestly. “Yes.”

He nods. “I guess that’s good. That he’s finally let someone in.”

“Are you . . . do you want to talk to him?”

He shakes his head. “No. I may have been his senpai, but I’ve never had any advice for him.”

I want to say that’s not true. That when Akashi had spoken of him, there was a tone of fondness in his voice, like maybe Mayuzumi had taught him something after all.

But before I can speak, Mayuzumi leans forward, his eyes intent on me. “Well, if that’s how it is between you two . . . you better look after him.” Then he nods good-bye and walks away.

* * *

At the after-party, I mainly sit by Satsuki and Riko. I don’t want to interfere too much with Akashi’s time with his teammates. Still, I overhear them questioning him about his last-minute change — but he just brushes the topic aside.

I think about what I’ve learned about Akashi tonight, about my talk with Mayuzumi. I want to speak with Akashi about it, but tonight’s not the night. Later, sometime. After all, it doesn’t really change things, does it? He’s still Akashi, and I’ll still love him either way.

So I let the night pass, reveling in the mountains of food and tales of Teikō days. Later, it’s revealed that Kagami has been invited to go to America to play basketball. It’s no wonder, I think, with his talent.

And then, Akashi suggests a last-minute game — between the Generation of Miracles and Seirin. Even though they’re all exhausted, they can’t help but leap at the chance to play once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter was really fun to write! I basically watched the whole movie while pausing it to write down certain scenes and dialogues. Most of the description of stuff is pretty brief because this chapter is already long as it is, and plus, it's basically a recap of the movie which you can obviously watch. (Of course, in the scene where Akashi speaks English, Kamiya Hiroshi has an accent, but I imagine that Akashi would have a pretty good grasp on the language.) This is obviously an important chapter because it's Mitsuri's first real encounter with Bokushi. In the manga, it seems like Akashi isn't always solely Bokushi or Oreshi, but sometimes in between. This is the first time she sees them completely switch, though. We will get a discussion between them over it, don't worry! And of course, I had to include Mayuzumi! He's one of my favorite characters, and he was at the match, so I couldn't pass up that opportunity.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed. Until next time!
> 
> ~ J. Dominique


	25. Chapter 25

_Reiha_

* * *

“Oh, Reiha-chan, did you hear about the summer festival?”

I’ve just arrived home from school, grabbed a snack, and was making my way to my room for rehearsing and homework when Grams stops me.

I turn around, abruptly swallowing a slice of orange. “W-what?”

“The summer festival,” she repeats. Her brow crinkles with a smile. “I know summer break is over, but I thought maybe you’d enjoy going. It starts tomorrow.”

“With you guys?”

“Oh, no.” She laughs. “Your grandfather and I can’t stand the heat any more than necessary. I’m sure it would be much too energetic for us. But I’m sure you and Mitsuri-chan would have a lot of fun.”

I’m stumped.

But . . . I do have someone I can ask to go.

* * *

The next afternoon, I find myself shopping for yukata.

With Mitsuri.

After a snack of blue-raspberry-flavored popsicles, we stop by the mall after school, where the only store that’s busy happens to be the same one we’re going to — it seems like everyone else has the same idea.

“I’m surprised you don’t have a yukata,” I say, browsing through fabrics of flowered pink, orange and red stripes, and polka-dotted yellows.

When we were young, Mitsuri always loved traditional things, like going to a shrine on New Year’s. I remember going to festivals with her every year, but I can’t recall many details — only the excitement of dressing up and the thunder of fireworks. Of course, in America, I’d go to enjoy fireworks on the Fourth of July, but that holiday was usually coupled with barbecue and swimming, as opposed to the food stalls and festival games of Japan.

“I do,” Mitsuri says, eyeing a light blue silk. “I just don’t have any that currently fit.” She pauses. “It’s been a while since I’ve had any need to wear it.”

Oops. I’d almost forgotten that she’s been in self-imposed exile these last few years.

Although . . . it’s not that different from what I was doing.

For a moment, I wonder if we are more similar than either of us think.

Could it be that our parents’ divorce affected us each in more ways than the obvious? We both saw our parents’ relationship fall apart, witnessed the hours deciding on legal custody . . . and while Mitsuri had the example of our grandparents’ perfect marriage, I watched our mother flit from relationship to relationship for six years. Six years of experimenting and beginning and ending, before finally finding the “one.” Looking at her now, you’d never think she’s been married twice. She seems like a teen fresh out of high school, wearing rose-colored glasses to match her pink dresses. But I’ve witnessed her and my stepfather’s love firsthand . . . and it’s genuine, even if it took many trials and errors.

So you could say we’ve both had good and bad examples of “love” in our lives . . . unfortunately, I think I’ve inherited the worse side of things.

Still. I have a mini war in my head about what I should do, but then I decide to take the leap. “You know, I haven’t had many friends either. Of course, part of it’s because we moved around so much, but even when we were in one place for a while . . . I never really got close to anyone.”

Not as close as they’d like. Never as close as what could be possible.

Mitsuri’s quiet for a moment. She pulls out a dress, examines it, puts it back. She’s stalling.

Finally, she says, “I’m sorry.”

_For what? _I almost ask. But I swallow the words down. The afternoon has been enjoyable, and I don’t want to ruin the night by hashing up the past. Someday, I know I’ll have to. But it can wait a little longer.

She pulls out the next dress from the rack, and her brow wrinkles at it: it’s a deep crimson striped with dramatic lines of black. “This looks like you,” she says, holding it up. The hem goes to right below her knees.

I drag out another yukata, which is in a more traditional style, lavender-colored with delicate white petals blossoming across the fabric. “And this looks like you,” I say.

To my surprise, she laughs. “Then I’ve got an idea.”

* * *

Two hours later, after a transformation similar to Cinderella’s own, Mitsuri and I are finally are on our way. Grams and Gramps had delayed us by insisting on taking pictures and ensuring our curfew.

They’d both been surprised at our choices. To be honest, I was, too. But Mitsuri’s suggestion was too good to pass up — when we’d picked out the dresses that we thought suited the other, she suggested switching it. The goal is to see just how much we can confuse everyone. And it had worked on our grandparents for a moment — thought that might’ve partly been because of their deteriorating eyesight.

With her fashionable red yukata, Mitsuri coupled it with a golden obi and completed the look with geta. I, on the other hand, can’t stand walking in those things, so I opted for my tennis shoes. When I first put them on, Mitsuri had a look of horror on her face, but after a moment, she just shook her head in acceptance.

Even though I usually consider myself more of a tomboy, I like dressing up as much as any other girl. The Cinderella costume I’ll be wearing is a bit cumbersome, but I still love the look of it. I paired a mint-green obi with my own yukata, and we both did our hair up in buns to hide the difference in length.

Something feels warm in my chest as we have fun putting on make-up and bobby-pinning our hair. Like any typical girls, Mitsuri and I had once spent hours dressing up in Mom’s clothes and making a mess out of her closet. And now, it’s like all those years apart never even happened.

As we finally leave the house, Mitsuri turns to me. It seems like what she proposed is catching up to her. For a moment, it’s jarring: seeing her worried eyes on a face exactly like my own. “Do you think this is too much?” she asks.

“What do you mean?” I pretend to be oblivious so that she’ll elaborate.

“Well.” She hesitates. “I know this was my idea . . . but I’ve never done something like this before.”

“It’s supposed to be fun,” I remind her. “We’re just going to tease them a bit. And . . . think of it as a test. Would you really want to date a guy who wouldn’t be able to tell you apart from your sister?”

“Well, no,” she says. “But we’re intentionally trying to fool them, so I don’t know if that counts.”

I smirk. “Just have fun, sis. If I know the two of them, they’ll have no problem seeing through this ruse anyway.”

And when I say the words, some part of me knows they’re true.

For Akashi, whom Mitsuri had invited earlier, it’s a given he’ll know which of us is Mitsuri right away. He’s always catching the most minute details that I’d never even think of. And based on how his gaze is always following her, he’d probably be able to pick her out with a blindfold.

And Ogiwara . . .

Today, when I’d asked him if he wanted to come to the festival with us, he’d blinked rapidly, a stunned look on his face. Shiyo had laughed, and as an afterthought, I invited her too. With a sparkle in her eyes, she’d said she was busy.

Assuming Mitsuri will go off with Akashi, that leaves me alone with Ogiwara. And while we’ve been alone so many times now, it somehow feels different tonight. Much more . . . _date_-like.

It’s a short walk to the festival, and we know we’re getting close once others wearing yukata start appearing. The sun is just starting to set, the mark of the start of the festival. Soon, soft background music and the scents of fried food fill the air. My stomach rumbles. I’d had a light lunch for this.

Within just a few minutes, the stalls come into view, the street already crawling with people. I’d told Ogiwara we’d meet him at the entrance, and as Mitsuri and I get closer, I spot him waiting, waving his hands in the air, a grin on his face like usual. Beside him is Akashi. A smile lights up Mitsuri’s face, and I wonder if this is what a person looks like when they’re in love. I’ll have to imitate that for the play.

“Over here —” Ogiwara faces toward Mitsuri as he calls out to us. But then, there’s a flash of confusion on his face. On the way over, I’d given Mitsuri a few tips on how to “walk” like me, but she’d forgotten them immediately upon seeing Akashi.

Ogiwara turns to me, still puzzled. “Reiha?” he questions.

“Yep.” I dip my head demurely and smile up at him innocently. “Did I get you?”

He shakes his head in wonder for a moment. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that. And you dragged Kasayama-san into it!”

“Hey!” I protest. “It was Mitsuri’s idea.”

“It was,” Mitsuri admits, from where she stands beside Akashi. He, like predicted, had no problem telling us apart.

“Well.” Ogiwara scratches his head. “You both look good.”

He and Akashi are both wearing yukata too, to my surprise. Akashi’s looks regal and perfectly tailored to him. Ogiwara’s, however, is a bit crooked and wrinkled, but I find it oddly endearing.

I grin. “You don’t look too bad, either.”

He blushes. His gaze moves around rapidly, before falling to the ground — he does a double-take. “Are — are those tennis shoes?”

I laugh. “I can’t walk in geta!”

A wry smile appears on his face. “I guess I would’ve known right away it was you if I just looked at your feet.” He holds out his hand. “You want to start exploring?”

“I was just waiting for you to ask.” Instead of taking his hand, I loop my arm through his, pulling him closer to me. I hear his intake of breath as his shoulder rubs against mine. He’s still so innocent, even after all the things I’ve pulled with him. “First, let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.”

* * *

A few minutes later, after cruising through the food stalls, we decide on tempura and candied apples. Ogiwara argued that we should wait to get dessert, but I’d told him that they might be out by the time we got in line again.

After we’ve both finished stuffing our faces, we decide to play some of the festival games.

“There,” I say, pointing to the nearest stall, a shooting game.

He grimaces. “You know those things are always rigged.”

“Even so,” I say. “I never went to any fairs in America, so I gotta try it again.”

Sighing, he trails after me as I fork over some of the change Grams had given me for tonight.

“That’ll give you five tries,” says the stall owner cheerfully.

“Right, I got this!”

I heft the plastic rifle’s butt, the thing too short to actually rest on my shoulder. _Pop! _The first “bullet” goes wild, as do the next two. By round four, I’ve gotten more the hang of it and manage to nick the side of a deck of playing cards. I hadn’t been aiming for that, though.

“All right,” I mutter to myself. “Last one.”

“You’re really taking this seriously,” Ogiwara says.

“Just imitating you,” I say, giving him a sweet smile. He chokes.

I let loose the final shot, and it — collides straight with the head of a stuffed fox, sending it careening.

“Got it!” I whoop, throwing my hands up, and Ogiwara laughs, with a bit of awe on his face.

“Is that what you really wanted?” he asks a few moments later as we walk away, my prize in hand.

“Yeah,” I say, then I hold the stuffed animal before me. “I thought I’d give it to you.”

“W-what?”

I laugh. “Would you have gotten it for me if I hadn’t been able to?”

He turns his blushing face. “Well . . . um.”

“You’re supposed to say yes,” I prod.

“You’re just teasing me again,” he mumbles.

He’s totally right, but that doesn’t mean that I have to admit it.

“I’ll tell you what,” I say. “I’ll hold onto it until you want it, ’kay?”

He makes a face. “Okay. Where to next?”

I shrug. “How about you pick this time?”

“You’re actually giving me a choice?”

“You don’t have to act so surprised.”

“But I _am _surprised,” he says, and it takes me a moment to realize that this time, he’s teasing me.

Something flutters inside my stomach, and my hand goes to my chest unbidden. Ogiwara starts moving forward, and I realize for the first time how broad his back is. He’s always been taller than me, but now that height seems . . . significant.

“Reiha!” He turns his head, looking back at me. “Are you coming?”

I can barely hear his words over the growing crowd, but I see his lips moving — and I remember that one of the first thoughts I had about him was that he had nice lips.

He _does _have nice lips.

I imagine they’re perfectly kissable, soft, warm — wait, what am I thinking?

I already told myself that I couldn’t fall in love with Ogiwara. I had convinced myself that I wouldn’t. But yet . . . what is this feeling? It’s foreign, fluttery, and it feels like something that might be called . . .

Not that I would know, as I’ve never known love before.

The last time I had even come close to that abstract concept . . . had assured me that it was something I never wanted to experience. But now, here, today . . . all I want is to be around Ogiwara, see his smile, touch his lips.

And if that’s the case . . . what in the world am I going to do?

I can’t afford to let that happen again.

“Reiha?”

Ogiwara has returned to my side, a worried expression on his face. “Are you okay?”

I rearrange my features quickly into something I hope looks presentable.

“I’m fine,” I say, urging my legs to move. I flash him a smile, then grab his hand and tug him into the flow of the crowd. His fingers curl around mine.

They’re always warmer than I expect.

* * *

_Mitsuri_

* * *

I have no idea what I was thinking when I first suggested Reiha and I imitate each other. For some reason, at that time, right after she’d brought up our years apart, something she rarely talks about unless prompted, I wanted to do . . . something. Something that sisters would do. And isn’t pretending to be each other a prank identical twins always pull? We’d done it as kids, seeing if Mom or Dad could guess who was who (they always could), and maybe it would be fun to try it once more as teenagers.

That’s what I think I was thinking — and for the most part, I still think it made for a good bonding time with Reiha.

But I completely forgot just who exactly we were trying to fool.

Akashi Seijūrō himself.

Of course, thinking about it on the way here, I knew there was no way he wouldn’t see through it. Which left me with the fact that I was now dressed in something entirely different from what I’d normally wear, something bold and daring that Reiha would have no problem pulling off, but me . . .

I catch sight of Akashi before he sees me, which gives me a moment to once again mentally prepare myself. Although the length of the yukata is roughly the same as my school uniform, I usually wear tall socks too. Tonight, I’m all too aware of the bare skin showing.

I angle myself slightly so that Reiha hides most of me. I’d been trying to strut like she’d instructed, but now I find myself shaking. I’ve gone over to his house several times, I’ve ridden on the same horse as he has, yet still, tonight seems more like a date than ever before. I think of all the stories I’ve read of couples enjoying the festivals together, kissing under the fireworks . . .

My cheeks redden at the thoughts, and I pinch them, which probably doesn’t help things.

“It’s okay,” I mutter to myself. Then, following Reiha, I make my way over to where the two boys wait, trying my best to act as confident as my twin feels.

Akashi’s eyes immediately meet mine, and he smiles when I approach, the smile that, no matter how hard I try, never looks as good on paper. “You look beautiful,” he says.

I blush. “You look great, too.” I never imagined I’d see him in a yukata, and I drink the sight in.

Beside me, I hear Reiha’s outburst when Ogiwara assumes it was her idea for us to switch outfits. “It was Mitsuri’s idea!” she says.

“It was,” I say. I glance out of the corner of my eye to see Akashi’s expression, but he still just has that calm smile on his face, like he’d known all along.

“It’s nice,” he tells me. “Perhaps you should dress up more often.”

I almost tell him the same thing — because being able to see Akashi in a tux is something I’ve only imagined in my drawings.

“Where do you want to go first?” he asks.

I glance back, but Reiha and Ogiwara have already disappeared. “Um . . . well, to be truthful, I’m starving.”

He laughs. “We can’t have that now, can we?”

And with that, we enter the festival. The next hour passes in a whirl of candied apples and fried foods on sticks and playing all the festival games — Akashi, of course, wins nearly every game he comes across. I, on the other hand, can barely shoot straight or keep my goldfish from escaping on the first try.

“How do you do this?” I groan, holding up yet another broken _poi_. There’s a large tear in the thin cloth.

“My mom taught me,” he says. He expertly catches another one, but then lets it free. The kids near us watch with envy and awe.

I pause. He never talks about his mom much.

“It’s okay to ask,” he says. I start. “I don’t mind if it’s you.”

I bite my lip, a bubble of happiness rising inside me. “You can ask me anything as well,” I say quickly.

He scoops another goldfish, his final one, then lets it free. I’d already used up all my fruitless tries, so we both stand. He offers me his hand, and I take it, my fingers sliding in between his. “Well, then, I’ll take you up on that later,” he says, a smile on his lips. “But I know there’s something you want to ask first.”

He’s right, of course.

He leads me through the crowds to a less-populated area, with benches spread across the ground. We find one near the edge of the festival grounds underneath a large tree and sit side-by-side, knees touching.

“Are you . . .” I hesitate. I don’t know how to ask this type of question. “Are you feeling better now?”

He nods and rubs his fingers across the palm of my hand. I shiver, though not from the night cold. “I’m sorry for not telling you,” he said. “About him.”

He says “him,” but I know who he is talking about.

“You shouldn’t have to feel like you _need _to tell me anything,” I say. “I want to know more about you, but I’d never force you to tell me something you’re not ready to.”

He closes his eyes briefly. “Yes, thank you. . . . But I’m ready now.”

I nod, letting him continue.

“You know, of course, that my mother died when I was young. Before then, she’d been a buffer between me and my father, letting me still enjoy my childhood while working to be the head of the house. But after she died, my father no longer tolerated anything that did not contribute to his idea of success. He only let me continue to play basketball because he thought sports were a good experience. Also, he gave me the condition that I must never lose.

“When I entered middle school, I was already worn down from my father’s expectations. Yet for the first time, I truly felt like I was part of a team. Nijimura-senpai. Midorima. Murasakibara, Aomine, Kise . . . Kuroko. I enjoyed spending time with them and wished it could continue forever. But my father started taking notice. I had just been made captain of the team, and he approved of that, but he was also worried that basketball would take too much of my time. His expectations increased, and as they increased, the team . . . started falling apart.

“Sometimes, I wonder if it was my fault. If I’d paid better attention, maybe I could’ve helped Aomine. Maybe if I’d listened to Midorima, we wouldn’t have parted as we did. But at the time, I was too scared to do anything. All of my friends were getting so strong, and every time, I saw them perform a perfect goal or block an impossible shot . . . I was worried that if things continued like that, I would get left behind. My own powers wouldn’t be enough, and they would surpass me, and Father would hate me, and —”

He stops to take a breath. Emotion runs through his eyes — regret, despair. His hand clenches around mine. I offer him no words; just my presence. Finally, he continues.

“One day, Murasakibara challenged me. I foolishly accepted, thinking that I could win . . . but he almost defeated me. He was so close, just one point away from stealing everything I’d worked toward. I couldn’t let that happen. So, that’s when he appeared. I let him take over so that I could win. And I let him stay so that I wouldn’t fail.

“I . . . don’t really remember much of that time. I know what I did. I remember moving to Rakuzan and winning, and winning, and winning again. But the details . . . those are harder for me to recall. Sometimes, I can’t remember conversations I had with people. I can’t remember what I did in the evenings. But I guess that’s fine because . . . I’m not sure I really want to remember. That time where I let only my desire to win through and could think of nothing else. I’m sure I hurt people. Not just Kuroko . . .”

He breathes in deeply. “Ogiwara is Kuroko’s friend, did you know that?”

I shake my head.

“Yes . . . in Teikō, we were going to play his team, because he and Kuroko had made a promise to compete with each other. But I . . . I did something terrible. And I don’t know how to apologize for it —”

I move my hand up his arm. “You _want _to apologize. That’s a good start. And Ogiwara chose to be on this team, right? He took a step, too. I’m sure he doesn’t hate you, and he doesn’t seem like the kind of person to hold a grudge. Kuroko, too. When I saw all of you playing together . . . it was like you had always been a team.”

At the sound of his name, Akashi seems to calm a bit. “I’m glad I met him,” he says. “Kuroko. He’s a little like you, actually. Neither of you shy away from me . . . and neither of you are afraid.”

I blink. I’d never thought Kuroko and I were similar. But the way Akashi said it makes me think. He didn’t say I was like Kuroko, but that Kuroko was like _me_. It’s a small difference, but does it mean anything?

“I’m sure you know the rest,” Akashi says. “Kuroko beat me at Winter Cup. And during that game, I let myself come back. I still lost, but it was worth it. It was worth it to see Kuroko fighting his hardest against me. At least . . . that’s what I foolishly thought at the time. That everything would be okay. That it wouldn’t matter to my father if I lost. I was wrong, of course. He was livid. I managed to escape most of his wrath since basketball was over for the season, but even once he’d had time to cool down, he didn’t let me forget. It was like a cycle. All over again. He would raise the bar, and I would comply, and it would never be enough. But then . . .”

He finally looks up at me. Squeezes my hand. “I met you.” He smiles. “You probably didn’t notice, but during our first year, he liked watching you. That’s something I remember. And I guess, once I came back, I was intrigued by you, too. You were always alone, but it didn’t seem like you cared what people thought. And I admired that. I thought . . . maybe I could get to know you.”

I remember what he said during the game. _I know how he feels about you. I feel the same, after all._

There’s an almost shy look on his face now, something that I don’t usually associate with him. I almost want to laugh. Because I’d almost thought the same thing about him — but while I was always alone, he was always with people. And I’d thought he looked so confident, and I was so envious of him.

“I never thought of myself that way,” I say. “I’ve always been scared of what the world will think of me, that they’ll change who I am. I’ve been so scared that, sometimes, I can’t even make decisions for myself.”

“I know,” he says, his voice soft. “I know that now. But that doesn’t matter to me, because I’ve seen you change. You don’t carry around that coin anymore, do you?”

For a moment, I’m surprised. But then I guess it’s no wonder that he noticed my coin-flipping habit. Not much gets past him.

“I’m trying,” I say. “Trying to be more confident in the decisions I make. Trying to be more like Reiha . . . like you.”

His smile widens. “I’ve been trying to be more like you, too.”

“What?”

“You and Kuroko both . . . both of you, when you put your mind to something, never back down. And I admire that in you. And I’ve been trying to practice it, with my father.”

“I’m glad,” I say. “I’m glad that you’re finally doing something for yourself.”

“I think so,” he says. “For the longest time, it’s always been for my father’s approval . . . but then you told me that you just wanted me to be happy. And I thought . . . if it made you happy for me to be happy, maybe that’s okay.”

I squeeze his hand. “Still just thinking about others, huh? Have you ever thought that it would be okay for you to be happy for your own sake?”

He laughs. “It’s a work in progress.”

“I guess that’s fine,” I say, smiling. “What are we all, if not works in progress?”

“Yes,” he agrees. He faces forward for a moment, before glancing back at me. “Are you sure you’re okay with it? With him?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say. “It’s all you, isn’t it? And I like every part of you.”

A look of relief crosses his face, and I want to tell him he shouldn’t have worried in the first place. Shouldn’t have thought that, once again, he wouldn’t be good enough. But before I can open my mouth, he leans forward and presses his forehead against mine. His hand gently rests on the exposed skin of my leg. I suck in a breath as his touch, warm and soft.

“Thank you, Mitsuri,” he says. “Thank you.”

Another smile creeps onto my lips, and I lean forward and wrap my arms around him. “I’m not going to leave you,” I say. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

He trembles slightly under my touch, but slowly, he stills, his breathing smoothing out. His arms encircle me just as the first fireworks of the night light up the sky.


	26. Mitsuri

“Ah, so you’re the captain of the basketball team. And you’re a second-year? That’s impressive.” Grandpa shoots me a smug look as he interviews Akashi.

How did I get into this situation? I want to sink into my chair and hide under the table.

I clearly wasn’t thinking when I recklessly invited Akashi over for dinner tonight.

I mean, it’s not like we’re even dating yet. I don’t think. But my grandparents . . . obviously have the wrong idea. Not to mention, it’s one of the nights Reiha’s actually home instead of out with Ogiwara. Between her and my grandparents, I’ve had enough teasing to last me a lifetime.

Of course, Akashi has been a perfect gentleman, with his flaw etiquette and respectful way of speaking. I swear, if Grandma didn’t already have Grandpa, she’d be hitting on him. (I don’t really blame her.)

And . . . whenever my grandparents and Reiha have hinted (very unsubtly) at us being a couple, he hasn’t denied it.

“Winter Cup is soon,” Reiha says, picking through her vegetables and going for the meat. “Everyone on the team is working hard.”

We delve into talk about Winter Cup, the annual tournament that Rakuzan lost to Seirin last year. I’ve been researching the teams participating in the upcoming preliminaries — but it’s not really them we have to worry about. I don’t think Rakuzan has ever had to fight to get through the prelims. The problem is what comes after. The likelihood of Rakuzan losing twice in a row is slight, especially with Seirin’s third-years graduating, but . . . you never know.

And Akashi can’t afford to lose this year. Not with his father just waiting for him to trip up.

The rest of dinner passes surprisingly quickly. Both Grandma and Grandpa are eager to hear about their granddaughters’ school exploits. Even after all our plates are cleaned and any possible leftovers have vanished, we continue to stay at the table and talk. From the club, we move onto Rakuzan’s academics and then plans for the future. Akashi admits that if he could choose a job for fun, he’d want to be a professional shōgi player.

The thought makes me sad. Because I know, with his father looming over him, that Akashi will never be able to choose a job simply out of pleasure. Even though his family is wealthy enough that he probably doesn’t even have to work, one of the reasons they are so prestigious is because of their hard work ethic and dedication. I can’t imagine Akashi just sitting around all day and playing, even if he is able to.

No, the Akashi I know and love is always moving forward, always doing his best.

Wait.

_Love? _

The thought had come unbidden into my mind. It had slipped in like it was a natural, common thought. Somehow, I think I’ve thought it before, but this time, I mull over the thought as the conversation descends into talk about Reiha’s upcoming play.

Certainly, I like Akashi. I like him a lot, I know that much. But love is an altogether different matter, and even if Akashi and I are close enough that most people might call it “love,” I don’t think either of us are ready for that. Maybe because both of us have such little experience with the subject. Akashi, even with his vast knowledge on a variety of topics, has never experienced love. He told me that himself once (when my curiosity had gotten the best of me and I’d asked if he had ever had a girlfriend). And, of course, I with my years of invisibility, have never dated someone. In fact, I wasn’t even interested in love before I knew Akashi. It seemed far too big a thing for me, a teenager, to worry about.

Familial love. The love for my grandparents. The love for my mom and even my dad, no matter how far away they are. The love for Reiha, despite our differences. Love between family is something I’m familiar with, but romantic love is a concept I’ve only ever experienced through stories.

I never imagined I would have a relationship like I have now with Akashi. And now that I’ve experienced it, I can’t ever have imagined being without it. I think of the night of the festival, when we’d watched the fireworks split the air, hands folded together . . . is that love? Later, Ogiwara and Reiha had joined us, their cheeks flushed with the heat . . . and maybe something more?

Not for the first time, I wonder what is between her and Ogiwara. Is that love? I wouldn’t know, because even though I know Reiha has kissed and dated in the past, love is still a touchy subject for her. Even though we’re sisters and boys should be a common topic between us, it almost never comes up. Whenever I casually mention Ogiwara, she’ll quickly switch the subject or talk about if offhandedly.

I guess we’re similar in that way. Both a little confused about our feelings.

It’s too early, I decide. It’s too early to put a name to whatever feeling is inside me. Akashi, whose one weakness might be understanding his own feelings, is probably the same. Even if what he feels is similar to me, and even if that is the thing called love, there is no need to rush things. We will continue our relationship as is, and if someday, love happens to be there, then we will face that then.

The sun is setting, the street lamps lighting up. Grandma stands up to start putting away the dishes. I could ask Akashi to stay longer . . . but is it too soon for that?

Before I can make a decision, Akashi rises from his chair and holds his hand out to me. He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t need to. I take his hand, and the two of us leave the house, our backs to the questioning stares of my family. But like the many stares I’ve had to endure this year, I find I don’t mind.

For several minutes, we walk in a comfortable silence. We’re still holding hands, something that excites me and calms me at the same time. I soon realize that we’re not walking just to be, but that Akashi is heading somewhere — of course, he rarely does things without a purpose.

The streetlights illuminate the outside basketball court. In the fading light, I can make out the worn paint and shoe marks on the ground, the three-point line barely visible.

There’s a nearby basket of free-to-use balls. Most of them are deflated and useless, but Akashi manages to find one near the bottom that’s still good. He turns to me, ball in hand, and smiles. “Want to play?”

It’s strange, now that I think about it. I manage a basketball team, but I’ve never once played the game myself. Before I became the manager, I don’t think I even ever held a basketball.

“If you don’t mind playing with me,” I say. “I’ve never been good at sports, and I doubt basketball is any different.”

He shrugs. “It’s always better to have someone to play with.”

And so, we begin. Although I am getting more and more familiar with basketball terms and strategies, learning the techniques is a lot harder than it looks. Akashi patiently coaches me through the basics of dribbling and shooting, and even though I’m painfully slow, I think both of us are enjoying it.

Nearly an hour later, we stop to take a break. Sweat is running down my face, even though I’ve done little more than dribble in place and try a few shots (which failed, of course). My skin feels hot, but I think it’s from more than just the exercise.

We sit on the nearby bench, Akashi playing with the ball with one hand while I catch my breath.

“Did you know . . . ,” he starts. Pauses. I wait. “My father has never liked team sports. It’s strange, since you’d think that teamwork would be a universal value. Being able to get along with someone. Trust them. Depend on them. But my father has always preferred individual strength. In being able to do something entirely on your own. When I was younger, he encouraged me to join a martial art. But I wanted to play basketball. My mother convinced him in the end, but he’s never been happy about it. He congratulated me when I became captain at Teikō, and now I see why. To him, being a leader means being the best; you are the most capable at your job, so you are the most capable of controlling the others. He doesn’t care that the leader should promote harmony and respect his subordinates. He just cares about the status and the power that comes with it.

“When I was at Teikō . . . and the first year here at Rakuzan . . . I thought I was bringing out the best of my team. It’s only after Kuroko defeated me that I realized . . . I had been just like my father. A leader — a true captain — doesn’t just use his teammates and discard them when they’re no longer useful. A true captain understands his teammates and knows their strengths, weaknesses, and when they’re better suited for a job than he.

“It’s been hard for me to realize this. Even this year, I’ve been trying, but I just keep falling back into the old role, that one my father wishes for me. But, you know, Mitsuri . . .”

He pauses, looks at me. The eyes I first fell in love with search mine, heartbreakingly genuine and full of caring.

“Because of you,” he says softly, “I think I can do it.”


	27. Reiha

Today, we’re practicing my least favorite part — the ball. Normally, I might’ve been excited for it — I like dancing, I like dressing up. But the fact that I have to do these things while pretending I’m in love . . . well, it’s not exactly something I’ve been looking forward to.

We’ve had a few waltz lessons, but tonight Kikuchi wants us to perform the ball scene in its entirety. Emi’s still hard at work on our costumes, so it won’t be exactly right, but we can at least figure out the staging and positions.

Ikeda and I haven’t talked much since I joined the club. He’s one of the few exceptions to your typical wild drama club member. He’s mostly quiet, rarely voicing his thoughts — but when he’s acting, he transforms so completely that you can’t even remember what he was like before.

I know some people can completely separate their acting from their self — they can act the complete opposite, doing things they’d never do themselves — but for me, it’s hard to just throw myself away like that. I can act totally different, yeah, but I always remember who I am. I can always see the space between who I’m pretending to be versus who I actually am.

It’s probably why I’ve never seriously pursued acting before.

Acting reminds me too much of the person I could be, but am not.

But maybe . . . this time will be different.

Luckily, there’s going to be no kiss in this play (I mean, there’s no way Japanese people would include PDA, right?). But there’s still going to be a slow dance, some embarrassing confessions, and a mock wedding.

It’s all very romantic.

Not for the first time, I wonder why I’m playing the main role. Shiyo said I looked the part, which may be true enough, and I can act close enough to Cinderella’s sweet personality, but . . . I don’t think I have a romantic bone in my body.

Also, a complete lack of experience. Shiyo, with her boyfriend of two years, would be able to do much better (though I guess her boyfriend might not like that).

“Okay, everyone!” Kikuchi says . . . clapping his hands together, of course. “The stage is coming along well, and we’ve finally got some music chosen for the background, so today we’re going to practice the ball scene. Are all the background dancers here? Yes, good. King and queen? There you are. Kasayama . . . and Ikeda? Someone find Ikeda!”

Emi bustles up to me, her arms overflowing with a cherry blossom pink gown. “Here,” she says, “try this on. I’m following a similar pattern for your dress, so I’d like to take some measurements. If it fits okay, you can wear it today to get used to what you’ll be performing in.”

“How do I even get this thing on?” I try to take the dress from her, but there’s so much fabric, half of it ends up dragging onto the ground.

Emi sighs, gathering the abundant folds into her arms. “I’ll help.”

A few minutes later — after blood being drawn and my lungs squished — I head out to the stage. The dress is a little short and tight, but I can manage to wear it for a few hours. I hope.

Ikeda and most of the background dancers are still in their school uniforms, so I feel kind of awkward, but I push the feeling away. I’m Cinderella. I’m supposed to stand out.

And so practice begins.

* * *

The play is one month away, and things are getting more hectic in the drama room. Costumes are tried on, taken off, adjusted, and tried on again. Stage directions are modified or completely changed. Props break and are repaired. Lines are memorized then forgotten.

As for me, I’m feeling pretty good with myself. Mitsuri and I have been practicing nearly all night. She’s surprisingly good at playing the other role (whether it’s my stepmother or stepsisters or the prince). If you’d told me a month ago I’d be rehearsing lines with my twin and having fun with it, I wouldn’t have believed you. But now . . . Mitsuri and I never talked about all those years being separated. We just kind of fell into a natural routine. Maybe that’s just what it’s like, having a sister.

Apart from my relationship with Mitsuri, I’ve become surprisingly good friends with Shiyo. I used to stay away from annoyingly friendly types like her, but that’s the thing about them — they’re stubborn and won’t leave you alone until you admit you enjoy hanging out with them. And Shiyo, while she might seem like your typical airhead, is actually pretty organized and sincere about everything she does. She has my vote for class head next year.

I never thought I’d be the one to make plans for the future — I always just followed my mom (who was never much of a planner either) and let the wind carry us wherever. But now, as a second-year at a prestigious school, and probably from Mitsuri’s influence, I’ve started thinking ahead. I’ll join the basketball and drama clubs again next year. I’ll work harder on my grades. I’ll cook more with Ogiwara —

My brow wrinkles at this involuntary thought, my steps faltering. Mitsuri, who’s walking with me to school, pauses and gives me a questioning look.

“I’m fine,” I say, and we keep walking.

“How’s the stage prep going?” she asks.

“Good. I think we’re going to run through a few scenes on it tonight.”

“Cool.”

There’s silence, but unlike before, it’s not awkward. Mitsuri’s always been more quiet than talkative. When we were younger, I enjoyed this because it meant I could talk more, show off more. And then when I first came back, I was annoyed by it because it felt like I couldn’t ever tell what she was feeling.

I guess that’s why I kept pushing her. To figure her current self out. I’m nothing if not relentless, after all. Ogiwara constantly —

I steer my thoughts away from him and try to concentrate on where I’m going. Unfortunately, the pretty sight of cherry blossoms lining the road are no longer. Instead the trees stand barren, no doubt steeling themselves for the oncoming winter when their branches will be weighed down with snow.

It’s been so long since I’ve spent a winter in Japan. Or even experienced in winter. My mom always enjoyed the tropical places more, so I’d find myself in Rio de Janiero or the Caribbean for Christmas. And California winters are tame. I’m not a fan of snow, so I never minded it.

But I think I’m looking forward to this year. I wonder what I’ll get everyone for presents? Maybe some foreign spices for Grams . . . a magnifying glass for Gramps, since he keeps having me read labels. Mitsuri might like that pretty sketchbook I saw when I was out with Ogiwara —

I give up trying not to think about Ogiwara. It’s like he’s invaded every part of my life now and I can’t get away.

Mitsuri and Shiyo aren’t the only people I’ve gotten closer to, after all.

* * *

I’m grateful that the basketball club is taking a break today. With both the play and Winter Cup approaching, I’ve had barely any free time for myself. And while I enjoy being kept busy, the load is starting to wear down on me.

Unfortunately, that break is not going to be today, after all. As soon as Kikuchi heard I wasn’t needed at basketball, he scheduled me for a dress fitting with Emi (again). Then when that’s done, I’m to head to the stage for our first ever full rehearsal of the ball scene. We’ve practiced the scene many times, but without the set, props, and costumes complete.

After I’m pretty sure I have scars from Emi’s pins poking me, I take the door to the backstage where the rest of the drama club is running around. The background dancers are fidgeting with their costumes, the girls looking excited, the guys nervous. Ikeda, my opposite, stands by the wall like a prince (it’s no wonder he was chosen for the lead).

He smiles and nods at me. He and I have a comfortable partnership. He’s friendly but quiet, kind of like Mitsuri. And even though we’re playing as lovers, I know he has a girlfriend and has no interest in me whatsoever in that way.

“Okay, people,” Kikuchi says, clapping his hands together. “We have an audience today, so let’s do our best!”

Everyone’s heads whip in the direction of the seats, and I wonder who’s there. With renewed vigor, they head back to their respective stations, while the ones on stage move out. My entrance is a few minutes into the scene, so I wait by the curtains for my cue. We haven’t started using the mics yet, but I can still hear Ikeda’s voice booming through the auditorium, the other actors equally as enthusiastic.

Then —

“You’re on,” Kikuchi hisses, waving his hand frantically, as if I don’t know.

I grip my skirts, lifting them so I can walk — I have on the whole costume today. Aside from my hair and makeup, I’m wearing a multi-layered blue dress, a necklace of fake jewels, white gloves, and the glass shoes.

My least favorite part.

While the heels are short, I still have trouble walking in them. We couldn’t get them in my exact size, so they’re a little tight. Add in the fact that I’m supposed to be dancing in them . . .

Someone lets out a whoop when I enter onto the stage. Without meaning to, I look for the voice and see — Ogiwara. What is he doing here? Sitting between Ikeda’s girlfriend and Mitsuri, no less.

I focus back on the scene at hand, trying to steady my heart which suddenly accelerated.

I’ve known all this time that I’d be performing in front of lots of people, so why does the sight of just a few make me nervous?

If I’m honest with myself, I know it’s not the fact that some people are watching, but that it’s _Ogiwara _watching.

Clearing my head, I walk up to Ikeda, a shy smile on my face. He’s a good actor, looking positively awestruck and gazing at me with what I would believe to be love, if I didn’t know otherwise.

The scene starts in earnest. Ikeda takes my hand and leads me to the middle of the stage. I’m glad for the gloves, so he doesn’t have to feel my sweaty hands. Someone plays the dance track from their phone, the song that will soon be blasted through the stage speakers.

I try to count the steps and timing in my head, but I’m off ever so slightly. I’ve never tried dancing before (at least not something so organized as a waltz), and on the first day of practicing it, I found out that I was hilariously bad at it. I don’t think it’s the coordination that’s the problem — but the act of trying to look graceful. I’ve gotten better, but trying to remember the timing along with the right steps gives me a headache. When I practiced with Mitsuri, she picked it right up and would laugh at my every misstep. She said it was only fair: since I was good at basketball, she could be good at dancing.

Ikeda expertly hides his winces every time I step on his foot, and we manage to get past the main dance scene. I want to sag with relief, but I keep my posture straight and muster up a loving smile for Ikeda.

I’m acutely aware of Ogiwara in the seats watching me. It’s almost like I can feel his gaze tracking my every movement. But I know that’s impossible.

We enter the “garden,” a corner of the stage that’s been given a flowery backdrop and a few house plants brought in. Ikeda and I exchange some dialogue, and I feel myself beginning to relax, now that the dancing’s over. Right on cue, someone plays the clock chiming sound effect. I jolt, like I wasn’t expecting it, and look around in panic. A giant clock, its hand pointed toward the 12, lowers into the backdrop. I let my gaze linger on it for a moment, fear and shock coloring my face.

“I have to go,” I say to Ikeda and begin tugging away from him.

“Wait —”

I’m already running. I’ve always done this part in normal shoes, so I nearly trip on the hem of my skirts. Pulling them up further than is probably proper, I leap off the stage and start running through the aisles. Harrowing music follows me, and the stagehands roll a withering pumpkin out while I make a loop around the audience.

I pass Ogiwara, see his intense gaze, then — I’m flying forward, my momentum going too far. There’s just a moment when I can see Ogiwara’s face and hear Mitsuri’s cry of shock, and then I’m tumbling down the aisle. There’s an unpleasant crunch.

For a moment, I feel numb, unsure of what just happened.

Then pain laces up my leg, and I cry out.

“Reiha!”

Mitsuri and Ogiwara are by my side in a second. I manage to roll into a sitting position, but just adjusting my leg in that small way sends spikes of pain through me. I grit my teeth and look down.

The heel of my shoe had snapped. My ankle’s already swelling and turning purple.

The rest of the drama club crowds around me, anxious expressions on their face. Kikuchi is muttering darkly to himself, and Shiyo’s face has gone white.

“She needs to see the nurse,” Mitsuri says, taking control of the situation. “Ogiwara, can you —”

He doesn’t answer, just reaches his arms toward me — one beneath my back, one under my legs — and lifts me up. (I can’t help thinking how ironic it is to have to be princess-carried in this situation.) He goes slow, trying not to agitate my foot, but it still hurts. Tears spring to my eyes unbidden.

“You’ll be fine,” he says. He looks down at me and gives me a warm gaze. Without thinking, I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face into his chest. I can feel his heartbeat speed up.

I don’t know how he can smile in this situation.

Because I know, already, that it’s not going to be okay.


	28. Mitsuri

Reiha’s ankle won’t heal in time for the play.

We all knew it, but actually hearing the doctor’s words . . .

Reiha doesn’t cry, just grimaces. I can tell she’s trying to hide her disappointment. Even if she never said it outright, she really wanted to do this play.

And she was _good _at it. She would’ve been amazing.

One by one, the drama club members visit her, offering their condolences. There’s always next time, they say.

But it won’t be the same as _this time_. I can see the thought in Reiha’s mind every time she forces a smile and says it’s all right. She’d learned to embrace the role, and knowing that now someone else would play it . . . it probably hurts worse than her ankle.

That’s why I’m surprised when she asks me to take the role.

_“What?”_ I exclaim.

We’re back at home now, Reiha sitting in her bed with her leg propped up on a pillow. I’d just come in to ask her what she wanted for dinner when she threw the question at me.

“You heard me,” she says. Her face is emotionless, completely opposite from her usual vivid expressions. “You’ve been practicing this whole time with me. You probably know the lines almost as well as I do. You can act. And you’ll fit into the dress.”

“But I’m . . . I’m not an actor.”

“Is it stage fright?” she asks, seeing right through me. She adjusts herself, sitting up straighter. “Do you think I don’t have it, too? Everyone does, at some point. It’s something all actors and actresses have to overcome.”

Her confession takes me aback. Because, yes, I actually didn’t think she had stage fright. I didn’t think she ever got scared.

Maybe that’s why she acted. So she could hide that fear.

I hesitate. “Don’t you have an understudy?”

“She wouldn’t do as well as you.”

I’d feel mollified if I wasn’t so sure I _would not _do well. “Maybe you should give her a chance first,” I offer.

“I’m giving _you _the chance first. If you take the part, then Emi won’t have to alter the dress at all. And I think you’d enjoy it.” She pauses. “If you tried.”

I look at her. Her large eyes are on me, almost pleading, the first emotion she’s shown tonight.

I feel myself crumble.

Didn’t I promise myself that I’d take more chances? Be more like Reiha, like Akashi?

“Okay,” I say. “I’ll try it.”

And the words are true. I will _try_. Not for myself, to get a new experience or whatever. But for Reiha. For all the hard work she’s poured into this play.

I’ll give an outstanding performance.

* * *

I’m hovering near the door of the drama club when Takeda Shiyo catches me and drags me inside.

“You have your script? Good. You’re going to practice with Kikuchi for a little while to get the hang of things. Let me know if you need something, okay?” She gives me a winning smile, and I realize why Reiha likes her. “I’m sure you’ll do great.”

She pushes me over to a guy, whom I assume to be Kikuchi. Reiha’s talked about most of the drama club members, but it’s my first time seeing them offstage. If I remember correctly, the name Kikuchi was usually associated with complaints.

“H-hi,” I say. I bite my lip. “I’m Mitsuri, Reiha’s sister.”

Why did I add that last part? Everyone knows we’re sisters. It’s obvious.

Kikuchi ignores me and dives right in. “Let’s start from the top. You have Reiha’s script? Did she write the stage directions in there?”

I flip through the pages. “It looks blank.”

Kikuchi scowls. “I told her to take notes.”

I give him an apologetic look.

He sighs. “Okay, I’ll walk you through it. Here’s a pen. Also, can someone tell me where Ikeda went?”

For the next two hours, Kikuchi guides me through the majority of the play, demonstrating movements and perfecting my tone. I dutifully take notes, which seems to please him. Around us, some people are practicing their lines, some waltzing, some painting a piece of the set. The noise and movement are dizzying, not at all like the peaceful environment at home I’m used to or the fervor of the basketball court.

Over the next few days, I continue memorizing the lines and performing in front of Kikuchi. Since Reiha’s bedridden, I’m also squeezing out time to manage the basketball club. Akashi offered to give me a break, but I refused. The debate club is currently on hiatus. With exams and other winter activities approaching, and the members all in other clubs as well, we unanimously agreed to reconvene in the next trimester. I’m thankful, because I don’t think I could handle having to deal with a third club. Not even Akashi’s in three clubs at once.

Because I’ve taken on the lead role in the play, I haven’t had as much time to spend with Akashi either. I told him about Reiha’s accident, of course, and the part I’ve now taken on. He seemed pleasantly surprised. His confidence in my acting ability only makes me more nervous, though. I don’t want to fail Reiha. I don’t want to fail him.

I don’t want to fail myself.

But in the end, that’s exactly what I do.

* * *

Due to the imminence of the play, the club is staying late today and for the foreseeable future. The sun is beginning to set when I finally make it on stage. In the last few days, Kikuchi’s stuffed as much instruction into me as he can, I’ve been measured over and over to make sure I really am the same size as Reiha, and people keep stopping me to marvel at how much we look the same.

Since Reiha broke the last glass slipper, I’m wearing simple flats while we get replacements. Goosebumps run along my arms as I grip the sides of my skirt, waiting for my cue.

_Deep breaths. _

“Rei — I mean, Mitsuri, you’re on.” Kikuchi pushes me from behind, and I stumble onto the stage.

Even though the stage lights aren’t on, it still feels incredibly bright. I blink several times, and my gaze lands on the seats. Just a few days ago, I was the one sitting there. Now, I’m in the spotlight.

How does Reiha and everyone else like this? I feel completely exposed. Everyone can see if I trip, if I stutter, if I awkwardly scratch myself.

“Cinderella!” Kikuchi shouts, irritation coloring his voice. “Remember, you’re _on_.”

I’d been so busy thinking about people watching me that I’d just frozen a few steps onto the stage — great, my first mistake. I shuffle into action, careful not to trip.

“Lift your head!” Kikuchi’s voice is rising. “Cinderella’s confident in herself at this point.”

“R-right.”

I straighten and walk toward Ikeda. My prince. He smiles at me in stunned wonder. The exact scene I saw Reiha practicing. My cheeks heat up at his earnest gaze.

He says something, but there’s a buzzing in my head, and I have to ask him to repeat himself.

For the first time, he looks unsure of himself. My stomach lurches. Something that resembles garble spills out of my mouth. Ikeda’s forehead wrinkles. “Are you okay?” he asks.

I squeak out a response, which only serves to confuse him further.

_I know this line. _

I’ve always been good at memorizing, and multiple practices with Reiha have ingrained her lines into me. But now . . . where are they? I search my brain, desperately trying to recover them, but . . .

Ikeda’s face shows full concern now. He reaches for me, but I jerk away, gulping in air.

I was wrong. I can’t do this. I can’t —

I hear the whispers around me.

“Stage fright, yeah?”

“This is the worst.”

“Looks like twins are different, after all.”

I close my eyes and try to calm myself — but I can still feel it. All the eyes on me. Reiha’s disappointment. My own failure screaming at me.

There are shouts of surprise. Kikuchi’s enraged voice combined with Shiyo’s calming explanation.

I sense someone in front of me. I open my eyes, expecting to see worried Ikeda or an angry Kikuchi.

Instead, I find myself staring up into the eyes of Akashi Seijūrō.


	29. Reiha

“What? She has stage fright?”

Shiyo nods sagely, sitting in the chair across from my bed. “Yeah, she’s like the total opposite of you.”

I press a hand to my forehead, a headache oncoming. “Well, it’s not totally unexpected. She’s always been more shy.”

“What made you think she could do it then?” Shiyo asks.

“Well . . . there are some times. When she gets this look in her eyes. And it’s like nothing can stop her. And when she practiced with me, she was really good.”

“So it’s not her acting abilities in question. Just the fact that she can’t harness them on stage.”

“I guess.”

Poor Mitsuri. She’d looked like she really wanted to try. And now, we’re going to have to use my understudy after all . . .

Shiyo glances at me, and her face softens. “Are you okay?”

“Of course not,” I snap. I thrust a finger at my foot. “Does it look like I’m okay?”

I immediately regret the words, but Shiyo doesn’t look offended. “I know. I’m sorry,” she says.

I crumple back against my pillow. “I’m sorry —”

“You don’t have to apologize,” she says. “We all know how hard you worked for this.”

Yes. We all know.

No one more than me.

I don’t deserve a friend like Shiyo.

A true actress, Shiyo arranges her features into a smug look. “Well, I _do _have good news. I think we have a solution to our Mitsuri problem.”

“What?” I lean forward, interested despite myself.

“Yep. Been saving the best for last, of course.” At my glare, she laughs. “It’s a juicy piece of information. You’d never believe it.”

“I’ll decide for myself. Just tell me already!”

“Well,” Shiyo starts, in her most dramatic voice. “Just when we all thought Mitsuri might faint, guess who appeared?”

I do have a guess, but I don’t voice it.

“That’s right!” Shiyo declares. “None other than Akashi Seijūrō himself! You should’ve seen it, it was like magic. Mitsuri took one look at Akashi and calmed right down.” She gives me a significant look.

“So . . . ?” I prompt.

“Soooooo . . . we’ve recast Akashi as the prince.”

_“What?!” _

* * *

Mitsuri comes home, not long after Shiyo leaves. She looks exhausted, her forehead knit, her feet dragging.

With much fussing from Grams, I managed to maneuver myself to the kitchen table with my crutches. Mitsuri plops down into a chair opposite me. She usually sits beside me, but currently my foot is propped up on her chair. The room is empty save for us and the slow simmering of dinner. Having forgotten something, Grams had run out to the nearest convenience store. Gramps is probably still in his room napping.

“How was practice?” I ask.

Shiyo had informed me that Kikuchi made her stay late to “hammer out details.” Having been subject to such treatment before, I can sympathize.

Mitsuri hesitates. She doesn’t know that I already know what transpired, so to spare her having to wonder how to break the news to me, I say, “I know.”

Her head jerks toward me. “What?”

“Shiyo came by earlier. She told me all about what happened.”

Shame floods Mitsuri’s face. “I — I’m sorry. I thought I could do it. I tried —”

“It’s not your fault,” I say. “You can’t help it if you get stage fright.”

_You can’t help it. _

For a moment, just a moment, I wish someone would tell me that.

Looking miserable, she just nods and curls into her chair. For a moment, there’s silence. Then, “Did you hear . . . the rest, too?”

“About Akashi?” A blush forms on her cheeks at his name. “Yeah, I know about that, too. How do you feel about that?”

“I don’t want to talk about how I feel,” she says suddenly.

Taken aback, I give her a questioning look.

“How do _you _feel?” she asks. “I know this can’t be easy for you. You’re acting like everything’s fine, like you’re okay with me taking the part, like you’re okay with me failing to do what I promised to do . . . but I know that can’t be true. You’ve put so much into this play. And from hearing everyone talk today . . . they’re all your friends, aren’t they? Aren’t you disappointed?”

She heaves a breath, then looks me straight in the eye, her gaze demanding an answer.

I can’t speak.

She’s right, of course. I _am _disappointed. The disappointment weighs so heavily that sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe. And it’s not just from being upset about the play — accidents in theater happen all the time. But this play did mean more to me than it might’ve to the average person.

I never liked getting attached to things, to routine. I thought I would always prefer an adventure, not knowing exactly what’s going to happen, taking risks in the unknown. But then Ogiwara came. And then Shiyo. And I started liking the idea of having a familiar face to see the next day.

And I realized you didn’t need to be traveling around the world to have adventures. You can just as easily take chances in a school as you can in a foreign city. You can just as easily be surprised by people you think you know as you can by complete strangers.

So this play became special to me. Because it taught me something I’d been missing my entire life. Routine doesn’t mean monotonous. Average doesn’t mean boring. Familiar doesn’t mean dull.

And now that that opportunity’s been ripped from me — I can feel it growing closer every day, a storm shadow over my head.

“I . . .”

I don’t know what I was going to say, because at that moment, the front door swings open, and Grams walks in, humming and carrying a plastic bag. She smiles at the two of us. Then narrows her eyes. “Hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

“You’re fine,” I say quickly. Mitsuri glances at me, and I know she wants to talk about this further, but seems to accept my stalling.

“Guess who I saw at the store?” Grams says, unpacking her groceries.

“Who?” I say to humor her.

“One of your classmates. At least that’s what he said. I think his name was . . . Ogihara? Something like that. He said he hoped you’re better soon.” She gives me a meaningful and teasing look.

“Ogiwara-kun,” Mitsuri pipes up, the prospect of teasing me livening her up. “He’s on the basketball team as well. He’s —”

“Just a friend,” I say, before Mitsuri can say something embarrassing.

Clearly, neither of them believes it.

I wish I could believe my own words, too. It would make what’s coming so much easier.

* * *

Somehow, I’d gotten Ogiwara’s phone number. I have all the phone numbers of the basketball club members, but I’ve only used them for announcement-type stuff. Ogiwara and I only ever talk at school, and seeing as we saw each other nearly every day, we’d never discussed any other form of communication.

But now, a week into my injury, I find I miss him. Oddly enough, he’s become a staple in my life, and when all I have to do is lie around in bed, when all I have to keep me company are my thoughts, his absence is even more stark.

Mitsuri’s been updating me about school happenings and bringing my homework home. She’s casually mentioned Ogiwara’s interest in my well-being several times. I think she’s hoping that I’ll say she could invite him over for dinner or something.

But I don’t want to do that.

I don’t want him to see me like this.

But for some reason, I type out a message (though I didn’t enter his number, for fear of prematurely pressing send). It’s been fifteen minutes, and I’m no closer to sending it.

In just the few days that I’ve been holed up in the house, I’ve become intimately familiar with the walls of my room. I’m surprised by the amount of things I’ve acquired since moving in. There’re all of my souvenirs from travel, of course, but then my textbooks piled on my desk, my uniform thrown over the back of a chair. A few posters Shiyo gave me. Some props I used to get into the acting mood. Some knickknacks that I bought while out with Ogiwara. And then, Gramps keeps buying me candy, having found out about my sweet tooth. My stash is spilling out of my closet rather conspicuously.

What would Ogiwara think of this room? Would he be awkward about it or would he immediately make himself at home? It’s hard for me to try and predict his actions . . . but if there’s one thing I know about him, it’s that he never does things halfway.

And it’s because of that . . . that I delete the message.

* * *

I don’t remember the next few days.

* * *

_What made you think you could pull that off? Clearly, you can’t._

* * *

A blur.

* * *

_Useless. Fake._

* * *

Grandma’s voice. “Reiha? Do you want dinner? I can bring it in for you if you want.”

* * *

_They’re going to get rid of you. Just watch._

* * *

Grandpa. Soft knocks. “Do you want to talk? I found this show on TV that I thought you might like.”

* * *

_He says he likes you. But he just wants the attention. He doesn’t mean it. And when he finds out about us, he’ll just turn away like the last one. _

* * *

“Reiha?”

Mitsuri?

“Ogiwara said he’s looking forward to when you come back.”

No.

“We all are.”

* * *

_I’m sorry. I don’t know if I’m coming back._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this was a hard chapter for me to write. I have had my own experience with some of what Reiha's feeling, and that's what I've used as a basis for her character (though she and I aren't really similar in most ways). It's obviously a delicate situation, and not everyone will experience it the same way . . . I'm going to stop for now, but if any of you are confused, hopefully the next few chapters will clear things up.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! 
> 
> ~ J. Dominique


	30. Mitsuri

I can’t believe it. Instead of being fired from the part of Cinderella, somehow I’m still in the play. Instead, it was poor Ikeda who got recast . . . by none other than Akashi Seijūrō.

Akashi, the boy who encouraged me.

Akashi, the boy I’m going to be playing opposite with.

Akashi, the boy whom I have very real feelings for.

How did things turn out this way?

* * *

As it turns out, the reason they decided to recast Akashi was a mixture of things. First, it seemed that it wasn’t Ikeda’s acting abilities in question, but his professionalism. Although I never would’ve guessed by his easy-going appearance, apparently he’d been blowing off practice by sneaking off backstage for illicit meetings with his girlfriend. The second reason I was obviously the cause of: for some reason, I could act in front of Akashi. Generally, you’d think having one’s crush before you in a romantic play would make things worse, but . . .

Finally, it seems like the drama club wants to sell a lot of tickets — and have no problem using Akashi’s popularity at school to boost their sales.

Akashi himself seems surprisingly fine with the turn of events. After appearing on stage, he’d perfectly recited the prince’s lines, to which I’d managed to stammer back a reply. Shiyo had then interrupted with a megaphone she’d swiped from Kikuchi.

“Hey, hey!” she’d shouted. “Am I seeing what everyone else is? We’ve _got _to keep that chemistry!”

I’d blushed furiously at her exclamation, but Akashi had taken it all in stride. Of course, he must’ve seen it coming; he never did anything without a plan, after all.

Everyone took a break at that time to discuss the new development (except Ikeda, who once again shirked his duties), and it was decided that Akashi would replace Ikeda as Prince Charming . . .

At first, I’d protested. “You’re already the captain of the basketball club and student president!” I said. “You can’t possibly take more work.”

He looked at me, a reassuring look in his gaze. He knew exactly what I was worried about. “It’s fine, Kasayama-san,” he said. “I want do to this.” Then he added, rather unnecessarily, “It won’t take much effort on my part.”

Well, the drama club was right in thinking that their club would become more popular. If they’d been accepting more members, I think half of the female population might’ve applied. As it was, so many of them turned up for practice that we had to start turning them away. There’d be no point in putting on a play if everyone had already seen it.

And so that’s how I’ve found myself on stage, once again in the Cinderella dress, practicing the same scene as before — except now it’s Akashi’s eyes facing me now. He’s already taken wonderfully to the part. Luckily, he and Ikeda were similar sizes, and only a few adjustments are needed. But as with nearly everything he wears, it looks like it was made for him. The lapels on his shoulders, the fake golden buttons, the polished boots . . . while they’d looked cheap on Ikeda, they look refined on Akashi.

Or maybe that’s just my bias talking.

Kikuchi is one of the only people unhappy about the recasting. He’d grumbled all afternoon about having to guide another person through all their lines and blocking. I guess he’d underestimated Akashi then, as there wasn’t much guiding at all.

Akashi says his line, and this time, my dialogue comes to me easily. 

He smiles — I think it’s natural, too. But coming from him, even a natural smile looks like a prince’s.

The rest of the practice goes as smoothly as could be hoped. Although perhaps neither Akashi and I have the improvability of Reiha and Ikeda, we manage to walk each other through the scenes with the easy atmosphere that I’ve gotten used to around him. It’s almost like we aren’t even acting at all. This stage is just another part of our walks home, and our conversation about slippers and dancing might just be another topic we cover.

By the end of the day, I realize what Reiha’s been feeling all this time when she dons the persona of another person. There’s something freeing about not being yourself — and yet, at the same time, using yourself to express something. Acting is sort of like that. You are; and then you are not.

And perhaps, that’s why Akashi and I both find each other in these roles.

* * *

Due to Akashi’s schedule, we’d met for practice after the basketball club, and by the time Kikuchi is finally satisfied with our performance, the sun has long set.

Akashi doesn’t even have to offer to walk me home anymore. It’s sort of just become accepted between us, that we’ll spend the time after school together. I suppose it’s kind of like Reiha and Ogiwara meeting to practice basketball. Some things just happen naturally without you even realizing they’re in progress.

“It’s late now,” he says as we leave the school grounds. “But later, I’d like to practice with you one-on-one sometime.”

It must be a testament to how much time I’ve been spending with the basketball team, because I first interpret him saying he’d like to play the sport with me. But then, I realize he’s talking about the play.

“Right,” I say. “Of course.”

“Maybe tomorrow?” He glances over, seeking my answer.

“That’s works,” I say. “I should check on Reiha anyway.”

I’ve been over to his house. He’s been to mine. Each time had been born out of rather impromptu feelings, but having a plan in place this time feels nice.

For the rest of the walk, we go over the drama practice, commenting on each other’s performance. I’ve managed to pick up some acting smarts thanks to Reiha, and he’s has plenty of suggestions for improvement as well. It makes me happy to know that we’re both trying to get better, both trying to help the other get better.

It seems like a thing couples do.

* * *

Later, after Akashi has left, I decide to pay Reiha a visit. Of course, I’ve been checking on her as often as I can. Lately . . . she’s barely been out of her room and is barely eating or talking. The last few times I’ve been in her room, she’s spoken in monosyllabic words and just burrowed under the covers when I tried to get more out of her.

I’ve never seen her like this before, not when we were kids, or in the short time we’ve been reunited. I know that she took her injury the hardest of us all . . . but Grandma and Grandpa are starting to get worried. Last night, they’d spoken in hushed tones about contacting Mom and . . . I’m not sure what to do.

When I enter her room, she’s slouched on her bed, her foot propped up on a pillow. She has a book in her hands, but a blank expression on her face. It doesn’t even look like she’s reading.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hey. You’re back late.”

For a moment, I perk up. This is more she’s to me than the last few conversations.

“Practice ran late,” I say.

“Which one?” Even though she’s the actor, she struggles to hide her grimace before finally giving up.

“It’s fine,” I say. “You can be angry. You have every right to be.”

“Right.” She lets a full-blown scowl onto her face before wiping it clean, like it had never existed. “But I still want to know how your first practice with Akashi went.”

“It went well,” I answer, eager to keep her talking. “You should see him act. It’s like he was born for the part.”

“It is Akashi we’re talking about, I guess.” Normally, she’d have a teasing tone in her voice and combine that with an eye roll, but none of that lightness is apparent tonight.

“He’s not perfect at everything,” I say.

“Really? Tell me one thing.”

“Well . . .”

I could talk about his vulnerabilities, but those are the things he’s shared only with me, and that seems too personal to talk about.

Besides, I came here to talk about something else.

I inch toward her bed and sit on the edge, careful not to jar her foot too much. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” I say after a moment.

I’m afraid she’ll scowl again; those words were never her favorite. But instead, her face barely shifts, and she says, “I know.”

“What?” I stare at her. “Did you want to say something too?”

“No — I mean, yes . . .” She stops, runs a hand through her hair, messing it up even further. “It’s something that I should’ve told you long ago . . . something that I know you’ve been expecting me to say.”

“I would never want you to talk about something you’re not ready to,” I say. “I know . . . it’s been hard for both of us. And we’ve both made mistakes. But I just want you to know that I’m . . . sorry for how things turned out. How mangled I let things get. But now that you’re here again, I’m really happy. I’m really happy to have a sister again.”

It all spills out of me, more at once than I’d been planning.

Reiha looks stricken at my words. “But . . . you don’t get it,” she whispers. “I — I’m happy too. To be here. I never thought I’d be . . . but with you, Shige, Shiyo . . . this has been like home again.”

Normally, I’d be glad to hear here finally expressing how she feels . . . but something doesn’t feel right. She’s acting like she’s about to . . . confess.

“You don’t have to tell me everything,” I say carefully. “There are plenty of things I don’t want to share either.”

“But I _need _to,” she insists. “I’ve put it off long enough.”

She takes a deep breath.

I wait.

“The thing is,” she starts, “is that I just didn’t get sent back here because Mom thought it would be a good idea for us to live together again.”

I frown. While I haven’t heard all the details, Grandma had told me that she and Mom had orchestrated Reiha’s return because it’d been too long for us to be apart. I’d believed her, because it made sense, and although some part of me was wary . . . I was also glad to be able to get to see her again and have a chance of being her sister again.

But what Reiha’s saying . . . is that not true at all?

Reiha looks me straight in the eye.

“I mean, she _did _think it would be good for us to be together again. But the truth is, I think she sent me away because she didn’t want to deal with me.”


End file.
